


You Think Me Unsinkable (think again)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: AC Milan is a sinking ship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, People dying (duh!), References to arranged marriages, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Shipwreck (duh!), So this is basically canon, Unprotected penetration, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Titanic AU. Two men from the other ends of the world looking for one last escape from the realities they have built for themselves. Five days aboard the most magnificent ocean liner ever built and a disaster that no one believed possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Journey Begins: April 10, 1912

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have promised to write a Titanic AU at Livejournal's [footballkink2](http://footballkink2.livejournal.com) community sometime last year. Took me longer than expected, but since it seems like Milan’s in a continuous freefall as of late – a sinking ship, so to speak – and I’m just not getting enough of Pippo/Monto (my personal ship that never really sailed), so I figured it was time to write them on that sinking ship.
> 
> As some of you might have noticed, the lovely [lunasenzanotte](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte) is posting her own Titanic AU at the moment as well. Great minds think alike, huh? It’s not even the first time we’ve had similar ideas! Anyways, in this story I’m focusing strictly on the experience of one passenger (Pippo) and the people connected to him (mostly Monto). If you want a more comprehensive story with multiple characters and POVs, I suggest you go take a look at her amazing story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3323120/chapters/7263029).
> 
> I’ve got a degree in History, but that doesn’t mean this is going to be even close to historically accurate – on the contrary, I’ve consciously tried not to get too sucked into the historical facts, because if I did that, I’d never have gotten around to actually writing this. However, I’ve tried to keep the history of _RMS Titanic_ as my leading guidelines rather than the 1997 movie, though obviously I couldn’t ignore it completely. I’ll probably throw in a few historical tidbits at the end of every chapter for the benefit of the history nerds out there, but other than that I’m going with an assumption that most people are at least somewhat familiar with the story of the Titanic.
> 
> I have the whole story written already, aside from some final edits and proofreading, so I will be posting a new chapter every few days. There are eight chapters in total (with the last one doubling as a kind of epilogue), with 2-3k words each. Hope you enjoy!

_"A large concourse of people had gathered to speed the vessel on her maiden voyage, and she made an impressive spectacle as she quietly glided in brilliant sunshine down Southampton Water, quite dwarfing all the adjacent shipping." – Belfast News-Letter, April 11, 1912_  
  
  
The docks are brimming with people, all there to see the world’s largest passenger liner to embark on her maiden voyage. A mix of numerous languages – although English booms over all of them – is surrounding Pippo as he makes his way through the crowd up to his boss.  
  
“You’re late,” Adriano tells him sternly but pulls him into a friendly hug nonetheless, “How are you, Pippo my boy?”  
  
“Great as ever,” Pippo assures the CEO who answers him with a fatherly smile and a pat on the back before releasing his hold, “How was your trip, Adriano?”  
  
It has been almost a month since Pippo departed from Milan. He had stopped on the way to handle some urgent business in France, before finally arriving in Southampton two weeks early to take care of the paperwork and to oversee the loading of the cargo, making sure the brand new cars they are exporting were handled with the utmost care.  
  
It is smart business, President Berlusconi had noted. Nominally, they may have earned their place in the first class through Pippo’s personal involvement in the design of the ship’s engines, but they would have been idiots not to take the chance to expand their business across the Atlantic.  
  
They exchange a few more pleasantries as they board the ship, walking behind an American couple Pippo vaguely remembers seeing on the pages of Italian business papers. In the first class of the  _RMS Titanic_ , one would be surprised to find someone they could not recognize.  
  
The captain greets the first class passengers personally. Pippo lets Adriano do the talking, waiting politely as the man utters a string of overflowing compliments in his broken English and conveys President Berlusconi’s apologies that he could not join them on the maiden voyage personally.  
  
The Berlusconi name obviously holds a certain weight even in England, despite their business being mainly concentrated in the Continental Europe for now.  
  
Meanwhile, Pippo studies the ship curiously, taking in every detail. He only visited the shipyard in Belfast once during the building process and has seen the complete designs only on paper and in photos. None of it could have prepared him for the feeling of actually standing on board of the ship he had helped create.  
  
“Like what you see, young man?” Captain Smith smiles at him knowingly. His handshake is firm, proud, and Pippo wonders what it would feel like to captain such a great vessel.  
  
“It’s even more amazing than I could’ve imagined,” Pippo admits with an openly admiring smile, meeting the captain’s eyes momentarily before they are ushered forward on the deck.  
  
A steward accompanies them to their two-room suite on the C Deck. Their luggage is all delivered, so they take only a moment to settle in before heading back outside to witness the departure.  
  
A beautiful young lady catches Pippo’s eye as they find a place for themselves on the promenade deck facing the docks, overseeing the growing masses of people. He offers her a secret smile and bows at her politely, earning a soft blush from her in return.  
  
“Remember your place, Pippo,” Adriano reminds him with a disapproving frown that differs only slightly from his usual expression when talking business, “Everyone here knows who we are – you don’t want to cause a scandal right before your engagement is announced.”  
  
“I haven’t even proposed to her yet,” Pippo retorts with a shrug, but turns his attention away from the girl obediently – he will have time once Adriano falls seasick, as is bound to happen – “President Berlusconi might be old-fashioned in these things, but I don’t think his permission alone is enough for me to marry his daughter.”  
  
“Barbara will do whatever her father tells her to,” Adriano rebuts simply, and even though Pippo knows he is right, he feels obliged to argue his point further.  
  
“I’m not saying she wouldn’t do it – I’m saying an independent young woman like her should be given the choice to say ‘yes’ herself, don’t you think?”  
  
Marrying the president’s youngest daughter – over ten years his junior – is not something Pippo would have ever come up on his own. He has always been more career-oriented: having a family had barely even crossed his mind before the talks of appointing him as the next CEO came into the picture.  
  
Binding him to the Berlusconi family through marriage had been the president’s idea and Adriano had been all for it – mostly because it would guarantee once and for all that Pippo would not be able to run off and join the competitors such as  _Fiat_  in Turin.  
  
“Yes yes I get it – you young people obviously know the best,” Adriano mumbles under his breath before addressing Pippo again, “I’m only telling you to bear in mind that this is your last trip before the announcement. You’re allowed to have your bit of fun with whomever you want, but you’re to do it discreetly. No scandals like last time!”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Pippo laughs and pats Adriano’s shoulder in a gesture he hopes comes across as reassuring, “I swear to you: what happens on the Titanic stays on the Titanic.”  
  
“It better,” Adriano mutters as Pippo turns his attention to the people on the deck again. The earlier girl is gone, but another blonde is making eyes at him, obviously fully aware who he is.  
  
Being recognized might be a good thing – an easy conquest just waiting to be charmed out of her expensive dress.  
  
On the other hand, it might also mean having to deal with a daughter of some wealthy industrialist looking to marry one of the most coveted bachelors in the Italian car manufacturing business – Adriano’s words, not Pippo’s.  
  
But Pippo is nothing if not a gentleman, which is why he excuses himself from Adriano and makes his way to the smiling young lady, to keep her company while the rest of the passengers board the ship.  
  
  
  
The departure is delayed due to an almost-collision with another ship, but once Titanic is finally out of the harbour, Pippo and Adriano retire into their suite – a suite that is actually just two spacious cabins connected by a private door, but the difference is mainly nominal.  
  
Once they have settled in their rooms, had a bit of a breather, Pippo excuses himself again. Adriano waves him off with one last warning: “Remember, no scandals!”  
  
He spends the next couple of hours strolling along the long promenade decks and first class facilities, accompanied by his new lady companion and her parents who seem to be more than happy to have Pippo courting their daughter – Pippo makes a mental note not to give the poor girl too much hope.  
  
He excuses himself once they have familiarized themselves with the basic outline of the first class passenger decks – he politely declines an invitation to join the family for dinner later in the evening, claiming Adriano has made arrangement for them in advance.  
  
Once he is alone, he makes his way to the engine rooms in the lower decks, to finally take a proper look at the part he had helped to put together.  
  
Pippo does not mind his new and ever-growing role in the company’s management, but sometimes he feels it has taken him too far away from what he does the best – the design, the machinery. Engineering is what made him the success he is today, after all.  
  
“Unsinkable ship, huh?” he muses out loud as he observes how the firemen shovel coal into the furnaces.  
  
One day they will come up with an engine that does not require such manpower, and Pippo has every intention to be a part of that revolution as well, be it as an engineer or as an investor.  
  
He is back on the promenade deck just in time to witness the Titanic’s arrival at the coast of Cherbourg to collect more people and cargo. He can just make out the shapes of two steamships departing from the harbour, carrying hundreds of new passengers to the ocean liner.  
  
“There you are, my boy. You should get changed before dinner, we’re meeting some American business associates,” Adriano finds him standing there on the deck, leaning on the railing, studying the approaching vessels.  
  
It feels almost surreal how the Titanic can still accommodate so many people even after the majority of passengers boarded the ship in England. And as far as Pippo knows, the ship is not even filled to the full capacity…  
  
“Pippo, are you listening to me?” Adriano asks him, now sounding more impatient, “We have dinner arrangements for tonight, so you should go get your tuxedo ready.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Pippo says with a half-hearted smile and turns his back to the approaching ships. The people will board the Titanic even without his supervision, and if there is anyone worth meeting, Pippo will have the next seven days to come across them.  
  
“It’s getting cold out there. How did you survive with such a thin coat?” Adriano asks him casually as they make their way back to their cabins. The rest of the way is filled with relaxed banter – Pippo has always found the friendly atmosphere of his company the best part of his job, even before his numerous promotions.  
  
  
  
The meeting with Adriano’s business associates turns out to be a long and exhausting affair: a prolonged dinner in the ship’s À la Carte Restaurant – known as the  _Ritz_  – along with numerous bottles of expensive wine, followed by a play of cards in the smoking room, accompanied with strong whisky and good cigars.  
  
The promenade deck is practically empty when Pippo finally manages to escape Adriano’s entourage. The weather is even colder than when they left Cherbourg, the freezing wind blowing right through his coat and scarf he had fetched from his room before coming out there.  
  
The ship is surrounded by dark nothingness, the clouds in the sky covering up any light the moon and stars might have offered. All Pippo can see when he looks over the railing is dark waters, and even that only in the sphere covered by the ship’s lights.  
  
There is another person on the deck, near the bow of the ship: a tall man, leaning his elbows on the railing, the orange light of his cigarette just barely visible to Pippo.  
  
“It’s freezing out here,” Pippo picks up a conversation in English, taking the excuse not to go back to Adriano just yet, walking over to the man with his hands in his coat pockets, turning his own pack of cigarettes in his hand before pulling it out, “Are the parties inside not to your liking?”  
  
The man turns to look at him, his light blue eyes looking almost eerie in the low lighting. Pippo realizes he is hardly a ‘man’, much closer to a mere boy: maybe around Barbara’s age, if he had to hazard a guess.  
  
“I didn’t feel like it tonight. Too crowded,” the boy answers with a half-smile that does not quite reach his eyes, his English accented, “How about you, sir? Shouldn’t you be in there enjoying the night?”  
  
“Nah, too crowded,” Pippo returns the answer with a shrug and leans on the railing next to the boy, trying to light his own cigarette which turns out to be an impossible task in the windy night air.  
  
“Let me,” the boy takes the matchbox from Pippo’s hands. Somehow he manages to light one on his first try and to even to protect the fire between his hands just long enough for Pippo to light his cigarette.  
  
Pippo thanks him quietly, but neither of them says anything more after that.  
  
As the silence stretches, Pippo studies the boy: dark curly hair reaching a bit below his jaw line, a bit hooked nose, wide blue eyes with long lashes… He does not look like much at a first glance, but he  _is_  pretty, albeit in an unconventional way.  
  
His nails are cut short but his hands look clean and well-maintained – too clean to have seen any physical work, although that should probably be given since he is obviously travelling in the first class, his clothes fine and a distinctive air of wealth about him.  
  
Pippo does not recognize him, though – and he is sure he would remember it if he had seen this boy before – which is unusual in itself. He probably should have taken a closer look at the passenger lists Adriano keeps waving at his face.  
  
“I heard we were supposed sail past the English coast during the night,” the boy suddenly says, glancing at Pippo with an unsure smile, “I thought maybe I could see the lights from here. Might well be the last time I ever see it. Europe.”  
  
“You’re going to America to stay, then?” Pippo asks curiously, taking a long drag from his cigarette, “You’re not from the US, are you?”  
  
The accent is definitely foreign, even if it is not nearly as noticeable as Pippo’s or Adriano’s, but on the other hand, there are lots of immigrants in the United States.  
  
“Nah, I’m German,” the boy answers with a smile that seems a bit more genuine now, like he has decided he likes Pippo, “And I’m heading to Argentina, taking the next ship from New York a day after we arrive.”  
  
“I’m afraid my German’s limited to  _ich liebe dich_  and  _Scheisse_ ,” Pippo jokes airily, a smirk tugging on his lips when the boy chuckles softly at his love confession – or maybe it was the curse word, although Pippo would definitely prefer the former.  
  
“You can have whole conversations with those two, though,” the boy notes, his tone playful now, and he looks at Pippo as he finishes his cigarette and tosses it over the railing, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get any German lady to bed with that, Mr. Inzaghi.”  
  
“Wait, you know me?” Pippo stutters just slightly – Pippo never stutters, God damn it – throwing the remainders of his own cigarette into the dark waters, “Please tell me I’ve never met you before? That’d be just awkward.”  
  
“Haven’t we?” the boy turns to face Pippo properly now, a teasing smile gracing his lips – his front teeth look a bit bigger than the rest, poking out from the line just enough to draw attention to them – “You haven’t forgotten, have you, Mr. Inzaghi?”  
  
He is stretching the syllables of Pippo’s name on purpose – Pippo is certain he has never heard that before.  
  
“You’re just messing with me, aren’t you?”  
  
“Yeah, I am,” the boy lets him off the hook, fluttering his eyelashes innocently, and then he wraps his arms around himself as if to keep himself warm, “I read your interview in  _The Economist_  a few months ago. ‘Filippo Inzaghi, an engineering prodigy turned into a young business leader,’ right?”  
  
“So that’s why…” Pippo mutters under his breath – there might be disappointment hidden somewhere in there, because he cannot afford flirting with a man who admittedly knows his public status – but he returns Riccardo’s smile nonetheless, “Can I get your name, then, since you obviously know mine?”  
  
“Why don’t you find out yourself,” the boy retorts softly, one eyebrow raised in challenge, and then he leans in to speak into Pippo’s ear, “You’re a smart man, it shouldn’t be too hard to figure it out.  _Buonanotte, Signor Inzaghi._ ”  
  
With that, he walks inside, leaving confused Pippo on the deck.  
  
It only registers in Pippo’s brain that the last sentence was spoken in perfect Italian when the boy is long gone and the first shivers from the coldness start racing down his spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Titanic did have a near-collision in Southampton at the time of departure, which delayed her for an hour or so. From there she headed to Cherbourg to pick up more passengers (this happened around 6:30 PM) before turning the course to Queenstown, Ireland, which she reached around noon the next day. But you all knew this, didn't you?  
> \- Oh look, I created a new Italian car manufacturer out of nothing! Northern Italy (especially Milan and Turin) was a growing business centre in Europe during the early 20th century and automobiles were one of their big export items. FIAT is mentioned because the company was established by the same family that owns Juventus today – I just couldn’t avoid mentioning the competition!  
> \- I’m not familiar how the corporations were run at the time, so I’m just borrowing the structure of Milan today, making Galliani the CEO that answers only to President Berlusconi. Obviously Berlu has a son that could take over the company, which makes Pippo taking over a very unlikely scenario, but let’s just agree he’s reeeeaaally impressed his bosses.  
> \- The classes on the ship not only reflected the price of the tickets but also the standing and wealth of the passengers. The first class was filled with European and American socialites, business leaders, celebrities, and so on. The passenger lists were distributed in advance so the passengers could make arrangements for the trip – in some cases this was taken as an opportunity to introduce daughters of notable families to prospective husbands of the same standing.  
> \- I actually checked the list of Titanic passengers and couldn’t find any Italians in the first class. This means I’ve basically created my own back story for Pippo and Galliani to even be on the ship and dropped them among the passengers. The ship wasn’t booked full in any case, so what’s the difference, right?  
> \- The first class cabins included parlour suites as well as cabins of different sizes, with prices ranging from £30 (around $3,500 in today’s dollars) for a single berth cabin to £870 ($100,000) for a parlour suite with its own bathroom and a private promenade deck. The price of Pippo and Galliani’s connected cabins is obviously somewhere in between.
> 
> \- Feedback would be much appreciated! I’m also happy to answer any other questions that might have popped up while reading this chapter.


	2. Testing the Waters: April 11, 1912

_”It was rather a novelty to be on the largest ship yet launched. It was no exaggeration to say that it was quite easy to lose one's way on such a ship." – Lawrence Beesley, Titanic survivor_  
  
  
It takes Pippo half a day to track the boy down, but finally he finds him in the corner of the first class lounge, his nose stuck in a book.  
  
“Riccardo Montolivo, Italian descent, the youngest son and the official heir of one of the most powerful industrialists in South America, on the way back to Argentina after finishing your business degree at the University of Kiel,” Pippo recounts what he had managed to get out of Adriano during the breakfast, “You told me you were German.”  
  
“And I wasn’t lying,” Riccardo retorts softly in his flawless if a bit accented Italian, not even lifting his eyes from his book to greet Pippo, “My mom’s from Kiel. I’ve never lived in Italy, while I just spent years in Germany – which makes me much more German than Italian, don’t you think?”  
  
“But you knew where I was from, so the polite thing to do would’ve been to let me know you spoke Italian,” Pippo answers as he sits down in an armchair across from Riccardo, studying his expressions over the book.  
  
“Would I have caught your interest if I did?” Riccardo finally puts the book down, smiling at Pippo cheekily, one eyebrow raised, “I don’t like people recognizing me on the spot – I’m sure you can relate to that, Mr. Inzaghi?”  
  
He had obviously noticed Pippo’s disappointment the night before, when he had realized Riccardo knew him. But Pippo is used to that: he is a publicly known figure, after all. Riccardo, on the other hand, has always been just a name with no face attached to it.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be taking advantage of the socialite gathered on this ship? I’m sure you know creating connections is vital if you’re to take over your father’s business in the future,” Pippo casually changes the subject instead of answering – Riccardo knows too much about him, while Pippo has only the basic knowledge.  
  
“I’ll have more than enough time for that once I’m officially appointed,” Riccardo shrugs, crossing one of his legs over the other and leaning forwards as if to reveal a secret to Pippo, “And I  _am_  creating connections with you, aren’t I?”  
  
He smiles at Pippo, his bottom lip caught between his teeth momentarily. If he were a woman, Pippo would be certain Riccardo is flirting with him, but like this, he cannot be sure of anything – it could be all chalked up to the Argentinean friendliness.  
  
But one thing is for certain: Riccardo had wanted to catch Pippo’s attention, and he had succeeded phenomenally. Because even among all the beautiful young women on board, none of them has managed to intrigue Pippo quite as deeply as Riccardo has.  
  
“I’m nothing but a small fry among these people, though,” Pippo replies, sitting back in his chair to create an air of relaxed nonchalance, “If you went out there and just socialized with the other passengers, you’d have a line of rich ladies waiting to offer their daughter’s hand in marriage to you in no time.”  
  
“Like they do to you?” Riccardo inquires innocently, tilting his head to the side, “I hear you’re quite the ladies man, Mr. Inzaghi.”  
  
“Please, just call me Pippo,” Pippo says quickly, because with the direction the conversation is going, the formal address feels completely out of place to him, “And yes, I’m very familiar with the way the elite families act in these situations. And I’m nothing but a mere engineer – you have a powerful family behind you.”  
  
“And a fiancée who I’ve been promised to since I was fifteen,” Riccardo retorts, and even though his tone is decidedly light, Pippo can still see his expression darkening just for a second, “One of the reasons it’s much easier to just not to make a big number of myself.”  
  
“You’re avoiding bad publicity,” Pippo concludes for him, sudden understanding lacing his voice.  
  
“I’m protecting the promise I made back then, to uphold my family’s reputation,” Riccardo elaborates as he pushes his book into his bag, apparently done reading for the day, “It was easy enough to stay anonymous in Germany – here everything I do is open for public scrutiny.”  
  
“I know what you mean,” Pippo smirks humourlessly, “My only advice from the management for this trip was to ‘avoid scandals’ – like they think I’d get messed up in some extramarital bullshit while selling cars!”  
  
“Avoiding scandals means nothing more than not getting caught, right?” Riccardo interjects as he collects his belongings and stands up, offering his hand to Pippo, “It was nice talking to you, Mr. Inzaghi.”  
  
“Pippo,” Pippo corrects, standing up himself and taking Riccardo’s hand, but instead of shaking it he decides to test his limits, pulling the hand up to his lips and kissing the knuckles gently, “Please, Riccardo, using my family name makes me feel old.”  
  
“I’m sorry – Pippo,” Riccardo repeats after him, letting out an embarrassed laugh as he pulls his hand away, soft blush rising on his cheeks, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was thinking of heading to the gym for a bit of workout before dinner.”  
  
Pippo does not care to point out that there are still many hours to go before the dinner is served at the dining saloon.  
  
He entertains the idea of joining Riccardo at the gym, but then he decides against it, because it is one thing to test his limits and another one to push against them knowingly – the next move should come from Riccardo, so there is nothing Pippo can do but be patient.  
  
  
  
“So, what exactly was your deal with the Montolivo boy?” Adriano asks Pippo as they lounge in the temperate room of the Turkish Baths later that day, “And don’t think I’ll buy your excuses of being ‘just curious’ about him.”  
  
“I  _was_  curious,” Pippo tells his boss easily, shrugging one shoulder to emphasize his point, “He knew who I was, but I didn’t know him, simple as that.”  
  
“It was your own mistake: you knew the list of first class ticket holders had been published long before you even left Milan,” Adriano gives him a sharp look, the kind he has reserved for the moments when he deems it necessary to educate Pippo on something, “Your responsibility is to know everyone on board and take an advantage of that knowledge.”  
  
“He’s just a kid, I didn’t think recognizing him would help my business prospects in any way,” Pippo laughs, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.  
  
“Well you were wrong, my dear boy,” Adriano says softly, like talking to a child, “Argentina is one of the fastest growing economies in the _world_ , and this boy may well be our best chance of expanding our business into South America.”  
  
To be honest, Pippo had not even thought of that, but now that Adriano actually said it, it makes sense.  
  
Riccardo might have told Pippo he did not feel particularly Italian, but he still spoke the language and was obviously part of the strong Italian Argentinean community, which was not only the safest bet but probably also their only option to get into the market there.  
  
Maybe that was why Riccardo had tried to catch Pippo’s attention in the first place: maybe he wanted to show his father he could strike a business partnership on his own, create a new connection between the Americas and Europe.  
  
“You should invite him to dine with us, since you seem to be so taken with him,” Adriano continues when Pippo cannot think of anything to say without admitting the business side had not even crossed his mind, “Which is much better than you chasing the skirts around the ship, mind you.”  
  
“Good to know you think so highly of me, Adriano,” Pippo grins sardonically – he silently wonders what Adriano would say if he realized Pippo’s interest in Riccardo was just another way for him to ‘chase skirts’ – “Tonight, then?”  
  
“We’re dining with Mr. Guggenheim and the lovely Miss Aubart tonight, I’m afraid,” Adriano counters casually, as if a dinner with a renowned American businessman was an everyday occurrence for him, “Maybe tomorrow. Since you have time, you could also make some effort to actually get to know him in advance.”  
  
“You’re just trying to keep me from ‘chasing the skirts’, aren’t you?” Pippo asks with a chuckle which Adriano returns with his own, “I’ll have you know my relationships have never stopped me from doing my job.”  
  
Just as they stand up to move on to the hot room, the door opens and Riccardo walks in accompanied by another young man Pippo vaguely recognizes as a member of a French entourage staying in the suite across from theirs.  
  
“Pippo,” Riccardo greets him with a nod and a barely veiled smile, his eyes travelling down Pippo’s bare torso as if by accident.  
  
“Riccardo,” Pippo returns the nod only when Riccardo’s gaze returns back to his face. He could bet the blush on the boy’s cheeks has nothing to do with the temperature of the room, “The gym was to your liking?”  
  
“Yes, it was very well equipped,” Riccardo answers quietly, brushing against Pippo’s side as he walks past him, following his companion, “I’m sure you’d enjoy it, too.”  
  
“I might take a look tomorrow,” Pippo replies before he follows Adriano who has exited the room already.  
  
“First name basis, so soon?” Adriano asks him as they settle on the hot beds in the next room, raising one prominent eyebrow to Pippo, “And here I thought your charm was reserved for ladies only.”  
  
“I thought you wanted me to befriend him?” Pippo retorts as he closes his eyes, enjoying the heat surrounding him.  
  
“There’s no such thing as ‘friendship’ in the business world, Pippo dearest. I thought I’d taught you that by now?”  
  
“Whatever you say, Adriano,” Pippo hums in response, closing the discussion without bringing up the fact that Adriano’s own friendship with President Berlusconi had been the deciding factor in his appointment as the CEO in the first place.  
  
  
  
Pippo hangs back in the cooling room once they are done with their bath, letting Adriano head back to their suite on his own, assuring him he will be ready by the dinnertime.  
  
Riccardo is the first to emerge, his hair still dripping wet and face flushed all over from the heat, followed closely by his companion even though Pippo pays him no mind – in any other circumstances he might have, since the Frenchman  _is_  attractive, but right now Pippo’s whole attention is focused on Riccardo, and the thoughts the sight awakens definitely have nothing to do with business.  
  
“Like what you see?” Riccardo practically  _purrs_  out the question, his voice shaking Pippo out of his daydream. He meets Pippo’s eyes squarely, a knowing smile on his face. Pippo realizes only then that he might be in huge trouble.  
  
Riccardo walks over to Pippo slowly, and Pippo might be tempted to reach out and touch him were it not for the third person in the room.  
  
“You know I do,” Pippo answers quietly, even though he is fairly sure Riccardo’s companion does not know any Italian. His eyes follow a drop of water sliding down Riccardo’s neck and then over his chest, mesmerized.  
  
“You really should’ve joined me at the gym,” Riccardo picks up their earlier conversation, but his tone is still the same – teasing, seductive, knowing – and he nods his head towards the Frenchman as he continues, “Mathieu knew everything about the modern equipment in there.”  
  
If Pippo had had any doubts about whether Riccardo had been flirting with him earlier, it is all gone now. They are done testing the waters.  
  
“I’m more of a ball game man myself,” Pippo retorts with a smirk, holding Riccardo’s gaze challengingly, “Do you happen to play squash? Mind taking me on tomorrow before lunch?”  
  
“I thought you’d never ask,” Riccardo’s tone is suddenly back to normal and he smiles at Pippo innocently like they had been talking about the weather, “Meet you at the squash courts at eleven?”  
  
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” Pippo accepts easily before he turns to walk towards the dressing area.  
  
He does his best to ignore the sight of Riccardo’s hand on the small Mathieu’s back as he turns his attention back to his French companion, speaking something right into his ear, but still the image refuses to leave his mind even as he joins Adriano back in their suite.  
  
Yes, Pippo most definitely is in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The Turkish Baths on the Titanic included a steam room, a temperate room, a hot room, a shampooing room, and a cooling room as well as a cold water pool to end the bathing experience. There were also stewards assisting the first class passengers in the baths. I’m not actually familiar with the etiquette associated with Turkish Baths (in Finland we’re more used to going to sauna), so I left the description vague on purpose.  
> \- Titanic’s gym was a modern innovation with state-of-the-art equipment. The gym was open for women from 9 am until noon, while men could exercise between 2 pm and 6 pm.  
> \- The dinner was served at the dining saloon between 6 pm and 7:30 pm. Many first class passengers preferred dining in the Ritz, though, because it offered more flexibility in dining times as well as even more high class dining.  
> \- Argentina had had the fastest growing economy in South America since the latter half of the 19th century, mostly boosted by agricultural exports, but the country’s industry was also developing rapidly. By the early 20th century Argentina’s income per head was on par with France and Germany, far ahead of Italy or Spain. Basically, it was the ideal target country if a company was looking to expand their global trade.  
> \- It is estimated that up to 60 percent of Argentines today have Italian lineage. The immigration from Italy started in large numbers in the 1850s and continued until the start of World War I. This is basically my reasoning for making Riccardo Italian (German) Argentine – even though most of the immigrants were agricultural workers from rural areas, I’m making an assumption that some of the early Italians (small groups had been immigrating to Argentina as early as in the 17th century) would have been among the people building the new growing economy.  
> \- However, my knowledge on Argentinean history is shaky at best and Wikipedia is not the most trustworthy of resources, so you probably shouldn’t take my words as facts. Let’s just agree I’m bending the little I know to work for my story, okay?  
> \- In my head, Riccardo’s Mathieu is [Mathieu Flamini](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mathieu_Flamini). That’s not actually relevant to the story, though, so feel free to imagine whoever you want there.  
> \- The people Galliani mentions were American businessman [Benjamin Guggenheim](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Guggenheim) and his French mistress, singer Léontine Aubart. You might remember Guggenheim from the 1997 movie as the man who (along with his valet) changed into evening wear as the ship was sinking and decladed to go down as a gentleman. Miss Aubart and her maid survived the disaster.
> 
> \- Feedback would be much appreciated!


	3. Closing the Distance: April 12, 1912

_"I enjoyed myself as if I were on a summer palace by the seashore surrounded by every comfort. I was up early before breakfast and met the professional racquet player in a half hour's warming up preparatory for a swim in the six foot deep tank of saltwater heated to a refreshing temperature." – Colonel Archibald Gracie, Titanic survivor_  
  
  
  
Pippo wakes up at the crack of dawn next to the still sleeping girl he had picked up from the promenade deck while Adriano was busy socializing with the men in the smoking room.  
  
He cannot even remember the girl’s name, no matter how much he racks his brain.  
  
What he does remember is Riccardo sitting at the other end of the long dining table with Mathieu and his entourage, laughing at his jokes, leaning his head on the Frenchman’s shoulder to whisper something into his ear.  
  
Riccardo had met Pippo’s eyes in passing when the two of them left the table early, walking a bit too close to each other for it to be accidental.  
  
Pippo would have been lying if he had tried to say he was not jealous, but fortunately Adriano was too busy trying to impress Mr. Guggenheim with his stories about President Berlusconi to realize Pippo was not paying any attention to the conversation.  
  
He had not meant to take anyone into his bed that night when he had escaped the stuffy air of the smoking room onto the deck – that would have been petty, when Riccardo had made him no promises whatsoever – but in the end he did not even need to make an effort.  
  
He sends the girl on her way the moment she wakes up – Marie, that was her name, he remembers as he kisses her goodbye – and heads to the deck for a morning cigarette before breakfast.  
  
He has walked around the ship a dozen times and visited the engine room again by the time clock starts nearing eleven and he makes his way to the squash courts on the lower deck.  
  
Riccardo is already waiting for Pippo when he gets there, happily chatting with the attendant, dressed in comfortable, loose-fitting training outfit. He offers Pippo a wide smile the moment he notices him approaching, lifting up the racquets and balls he has already paid for.  
  
“We’re in luck, there’s no one else in the line before us,” he tells Pippo, handing one of the racquets to him, “I thought we could eat lunch together afterwards, if you’re feeling up to it?”  
  
“That reminds me, my boss told me to invite you to dine with us tonight,” Pippo returns the suggestion, purposefully avoiding giving a straight answer, “He’s probably inviting some high-flying socialites to join us, so I doubt anyone’s gonna pay too much attention to you, but he thinks it’s good to make new business contacts anyways.”  
  
“And what do you think?” Riccardo asks as they make their way to the court, after leaving an extra tip to the attendant and telling him to go get himself some lunch while they play.  
  
“I think having you there must be much more interesting than whoever Adriano has in mind,” Pippo replies with faked nonchalance. He bounces the ball with his racquet a few times and then sends it flying towards the opposite wall.  
  
“I’ve been told I make splendid dinner company,” Riccardo answers as he swings his racquet, managing to hit the ball but also sending it flying towards the roof, “Sorry, I’m a bit rusty.”  
  
“Just take your time,” Pippo says as Riccardo catches the ball and prepares to serve, “I saw Mathieu was enjoying your delightful company last night – though I think it’s considered impolite to leave while the others are still eating.”  
  
“You’re just upset it was him I left with,” Riccardo counters airily and then the ball is moving again, forcing Pippo to make a sudden dash to get to it in time. This time they actually manage to create a longer rally, both of them getting used to the fast tempo of the game.  
  
Pippo makes sure to win the point before he replies, only slightly out of breath, “What if I was?”  
  
“Nothing,” Riccardo grins at him, “You can’t afford another scandal, after all. It’d be horrible of me to even suggest such a thing.”  
  
“It’s only a scandal if I get caught,” Pippo reminds him before serving another ball, putting the conversation on hold again.  
  
They play maybe half an hour without interruption, only changing a few words between every rally. Somewhere in the middle Pippo realizes he is actually enjoying the careless flirting – there are no expectations or obligations between them, and that is what makes it so easy.  
  
They are on the same page, which makes Pippo relax and forget the problems getting involved with men has caused him in the past – with Riccardo, things just feel straightforward, uncomplicated.  
  
“Water break?” Riccardo suggests after Pippo wins another ball – they are not counting points, but if they were, Pippo would definitely be winning – walking to the far corner where he had left his belongings, picking up a bottle of water from his bag, “You’re really good. For your age, that is.”  
  
“Are you saying I’m old?” Pippo asks, pretending to be offended, but he accepts the bottle from Riccardo nonetheless, “Let me remind you I just thoroughly kicked your ass.”  
  
“That’s because I’m bad at squash,” Riccardo quips back, but he is not making eye-contact, his gaze stuck on Pippo’s lips as he drinks the water instead.  
  
“See something you like?” Pippo asks with a teasing smile when he finally hands the bottle back. Instead of taking it, Riccardo leans in and presses a chaste kiss on Pippo’s lips.  
  
“Yes, I like it very much,” Riccardo smiles at Pippo’s stunned expression, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “Don’t tell me you hadn’t thought of doing that.”  
  
“Thinking about it is different from doing it where anyone could see us,” Pippo argues, stumbling on his words embarrassingly. He is the one who was supposed to make a move on Riccardo, just like he has always been able to charm any girl he sets his sights on.  
  
“Don’t worry: I paid the attendant to leave us alone. Confidential business-y stuff, you know,” Riccardo is biting his lower lip, obviously trying to hold the laughter that is lighting up his eyes, “And we’re right under the spectator deck so it’d be physically impossible for them to see us even if there was someone up there.”  
  
“It’s almost like you planned this,” Pippo deadpans, but then he cannot hold back the impressed smile that is tugging on his lips, “How far are you willing to go, then?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Riccardo leans in to kiss Pippo again, this time more certain, nibbling Pippo’s lips playfully before increasing the pressure, his warm tongue brushing against Pippo’s lower lip gently before he pulls away and meets Pippo’s eyes again, “How far are you willing to take it?”  
  
“Is that a challenge?” Pippo asks quietly, but he does not wait for Riccardo’s answer before catching his lips into another kiss, more demanding than the previous ones.  
  
He pushes Riccardo back against the wall as he deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting Riccardo’s hungrily, and he can feel Riccardo’s arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, a silent message that he is not submitting to Pippo, merely allowing him to take the lead.  
  
Pippo slides his hands down from Riccardo’s waist, grasping his buttocks and urging him to buck his crotch against Pippo’s. They are practically the same height, which makes the position surprisingly comfortable.  
  
Riccardo grazes his teeth against Pippo’s lip when their erections press against each other, not exactly biting, breaking the kiss just enough to let out a soft whine right into Pippo’s mouth. The spontaneous sound makes Pippo grow even harder.  
  
“Dear God, you’re amazing,” Pippo groans against Riccardo’s lips before attacking them again, all the while jerking his hips against Riccardo’s with increasing urgency. Riccardo mirrors his movements, adjusting his position to create as much friction between their cocks as possible.  
  
Pippo reaches his climax embarrassingly fast, coming into his pants with a breathy moan, but the embarrassment does not last long as Riccardo throws his head back and lets out a sound that is half-laughter, half-moan, pushing himself tightly against Pippo before finally relaxing in his arms.  
  
“Look what you did – how are we supposed to keep on playing now?” Riccardo whispers against Pippo’s lips, dropping one last chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth lazily, “I’ll have you know I haven’t come into my pants since I was a teenager.”  
  
“When was that, last week?” Pippo teases him softly, fondling his buttocks with both hands for a while longer before letting him slip out of his hold.  
  
“Very funny, grandpa,” Riccardo returns with a decidedly cute pout that only makes him look younger than he actually is, “Isn’t age supposed to give you more stamina? Or are you too old to control your nether regions?”  
  
“If you make even one joke about my bladder, I can guarantee you’ll never get a chance to see just how much stamina I can have when it’s necessary,” Pippo retorts as he picks up his belongings, quickly checking the front of his pants to make sure nothing is visible.  
  
“Is that a promise?” Riccardo asks cheekily, looking pointedly at Pippo’s crotch before meeting his eyes again, “Like, tonight? After dinner?”  
  
“You really wanna rub this in my boss’s face like that?” Pippo asks with a roll of his eyes, but then he gropes Riccardo’s ass one more time for a good measure, “We’re supposed to keep things discreet, remember?”  
  
“Sure, because getting off in the public squash courts is so very discreet.”  
  
“I had no part in that, it was all on you.”  
  
Riccardo smirks at Pippo triumphantly over his shoulder as he opens the door and walks out, thanking the attendant loudly for his trouble as he returns the racquets and the balls.  
  
  
  
Just as Pippo had expected, Adriano has invited a bunch on other people to join them for dinner.  
  
However, it turns out the three of them are the only ones in the table speaking Italian, which means that after exchanging the usual pleasantries, Adriano turns his attention solely on Riccardo, practically interrogating him about his studies in Germany and his family in Argentina.  
  
Pippo might believe it is only because Adriano has grown tired of speaking English every night, but the way his boss’s eyes glint when Riccardo mentions his father tells a different story – this is Adriano in his business mode, even if it is hidden behind his fatherly demeanour.  
  
“I always wondered how your parents could allow you to move all the way across the Atlantic to study,” Adriano says in feigned casualness, “If it were my son I’d prefer to have him closer to home. Your older brother lives in New York, doesn’t he?”  
  
Adriano has obviously done his homework on Riccardo. It makes Pippo feel uncomfortable, because while Adriano brings these things up like they were common knowledge, Pippo can still hardly say he knows anything about Riccardo.  
  
“They probably didn’t want me running off and getting married like my brother did,” Riccardo answers Adriano’s question after a short consideration, “I think they thought having me stay with my grandparents in Kiel was a much safer choice than putting me somewhere no one could keep an eye on me.”  
  
“Sending you off to the other side of the world to make sure you’d come back,” Adriano concludes with an understanding laugh, reaching over the table to pat Riccardo’s hand sympathetically, “You must’ve felt awfully homesick, too?”  
  
“A bit, yeah,” Riccardo shrugs, glancing towards Pippo uncertainly as he carefully pulls his hand out of Adriano’s reach and into his lap, “But as I said, I had my grandparents there so it wasn’t that bad.”  
  
Pippo has to wonder about the difference the company makes in Riccardo: alone with Pippo, he always comes across as confident and self-assured, but around other people he seems almost withdrawn, unsure of where he stands.  
  
The realization does not fit Pippo’s earlier assumptions, because if Riccardo had wanted to get Pippo’s attention to create a business partnership, he should be doing the same to Adriano who is still the one calling the shots in their firm.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” Adriano sits back in his chair, raising his hands in an apologetic gesture, “You just remind me of my own son, back when he was your age. And Pippo here, too, now that I think about it. Although I’m sure you wouldn’t have caused me nearly as much trouble as he did when he first entered the firm.”  
  
“You’re probably right – he must’ve been quite a handful for you, Mr. Galliani,” Riccardo replies softly, looking sideways at Pippo with barely veiled glee. He slides his hand from his own lap into Pippo’s, rubbing the inside of his thigh with his fingertips.  
  
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Pippo tells Riccardo off with an indignant huff, but does not make any attempt to push his hand off, “I’ll have you know I’ve been the perfect model employee from the day one.”  
  
Pippo has to drag his eyes away from Riccardo who is biting the inside of his lip – obviously holding back a sarcastic retort – because he can practically feel Adriano’s sharp eyes on him. The last thing Pippo needs is Adriano realizing his ‘one time fling’ with a male co-worker had been anything but a singular mistake on his part.  
  
“No need to sugar-coat your shortcoming, Pippo my boy,” Adriano adopts his most adoring tone, the one he usually saves for his grandchildren, and then he addresses Riccardo again, “I’m the first to admit Pippo has his faults, but I wouldn’t change him for anyone else. He’s like a son to me.”  
  
“It sounds like a lovely working atmosphere,” Riccardo says softly, meeting Pippo’s eyes briefly, “My father’s business is family-run, but to me it seems we have a lot to do before coming even close to what you’ve got.”  
  
“That’s us, one big family,” Adriano is beaming at Riccardo and suddenly Pippo realizes Riccardo is doing a splendid job at winning Adriano over: barely visible insecurities, just enough flattery, and a few jokes that only enforce Adriano’s own opinions.  
  
Riccardo is still playing, and Pippo actually feels a twinge of pride at that.  
  
“Just between us, it won’t be long before Pippo really is part of the Berlusconi family,” Adriano lowers his voice and leans in as he says this, even though no one else in the table would understand him anyways, “No matter how good the atmosphere, familial ties  _are_  important. Even if it’s through marriage. I’m sure you of all people should know that.”  
  
Riccardo pulls his hand away from Pippo’s leg abruptly, unveiled surprise shining from his eyes when he turns to look at Pippo, “I didn’t know you were engaged?”  
  
“I’m not,” Pippo says calmly – Riccardo raises an eyebrow in disbelief – “Not yet, anyways.”  
  
He tries to look for signs of hurt from Riccardo’s expression but finds none, only bafflement and maybe a shimmer of disappointment that Pippo had not bothered to tell him this earlier. Pippo realizes with a start that some small part of him was hoping to find more.  
  
“I guess congratulations are in order, then?” Riccardo says softly, the smile on his face genuine as ever, but he keeps his hands to himself as he turns his attention back to Adriano, picking up the conversation like nothing had happened.  
  
But even though the exchange had been innocent enough, there is suspicion and disapproval in Adriano’s eyes now when he looks at Pippo, and Pippo knows he will have a private questioning to answer to once the dinner is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Yes, Pippo has had affairs with men before and Galliani is aware of it (or at least of that one particular time). But we’re talking about a time when homosexual behaviour was considered a sickness and/or a crime. Basically, I imagine Galliani has been actively ignoring what happened in the past because he really wants to keep Pippo around despite his “faults.”  
> \- For the longest time, the old European universities were considered the best, which is why it wasn’t unusual for families to send their sons to study in foreign countries. I’d imagine it was also good for Riccardo to learn about his roots before taking his place in his father’s corporation. University of Kiel is “the largest, oldest, and most prestigious in the state of Schleswig-Holstein” (according to Wikipedia, anyways), so it would’ve made sense to send Riccardo there.  
> \- The squash court was located in the Lower Deck. The attendant rented balls and racquets and served as an opponent if necessary. He probably wasn’t allowed to leave his post during his shift, but I’m going with an assumption that Riccardo could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. The spectator deck was located on the Middle Deck above. It only spread over the back wall, so technically it would’ve been possible for the players to hide from view by moving close enough to the said wall.
> 
> \- Feedback would be much appreciated!


	4. Lost and Found: April 13, 1912

_"Each night the sun sank right in our eyes along the sea, making an undulating glittering pathway, a golden track charted on the surface of the ocean which our ship followed unswervingly until the sun dipped below the edge of the horizon, and the pathway ran ahead of us faster than we could steam and slipped over the edge of the skyline - as if the sun had been a golden ball and had wound up its thread of gold too quickly for us to follow." – Lawrence Beesley, Titanic survivor_  
  
  
  
“There you are,” is the only greeting Pippo spares for Riccardo when he finally finds him outside on the A Deck’s promenade, leaning on the railing watching a bunch of third class kids playing on the deck below, “I was starting to think you were hiding from me on purpose.”  
  
“Not everything’s about you,” Riccardo retorts with a sardonic smile that tells Pippo he really had been hiding, “You better be careful, too: it’s a big ship, easy to get lost.”  
  
“I should be telling you that – I know the blueprints like the back of my hand,” Pippo argues softly as he joins Riccardo by the railing, so close their shoulders are brushing against each other, “You’d definitely make finding yourself easier if you just stayed in one place instead of moving around.”  
  
“What if I didn’t wanna be found?” Riccardo asks, carrying on before Pippo can open his mouth to tell him it is exactly what he had denied only seconds ago, “Not only by you, I mean in general. I just needed some time for myself.”  
  
“Does it have something to do with Adriano?” Pippo asks quietly, turning his eyes towards the children below them. Actually he wants to ask if it is because of his upcoming engagement, but he feels like that might be too straightforward.  
  
Riccardo stays silent for a long time, and finally Pippo has to look at him to make sure he is still with him. Riccardo is staring down at the third class deck, but his eyes are glazed over, obviously deep in thought.  
  
Riccardo had retired into his own cabin right after the dinner the night before, while Adriano had followed the familiar pattern of dragging Pippo into the smoking room for some poker and whisky without giving him a chance to have a private word with Riccardo.  
  
Not that he could have spent the night with Riccardo in any case, despite their earlier plans, now that Adriano’s suspicions had arisen. Pippo feels like he owes Riccardo some kind of an explanation nonetheless.  
  
“Do you know why I tried to get your attention in the first place?” Riccardo asks suddenly, still not meeting Pippo’s eyes.  
  
“Because you wanted to impress your father by creating a business connection of your own?” Pippo suggests carefully, voicing his own suspicions for the first time.  
  
“Close, but not really,” Riccardo answers, leaning his shoulder against Pippo’s carefully, “I thought if I impressed you enough, you might decide to hire me. Silly, huh?”  
  
He finally looks at Pippo as he says the last part, a wistful smile on his lips that does not fit him at all. Pippo has no chance to say anything before he continues: “Of course, that’s off the table now: I wouldn’t wanna mess up your marriage before it even happens. And sleeping my way up the ladder isn’t really my style, anyways.”  
  
“Wouldn’t that be down the ladder in your case?” Pippo asks curiously, because he cannot wrap his mind around Riccardo’s reasoning at all, “Since you’re inheriting the biggest corporation in South America and all.”  
  
“Would it? At least in Italy no one could say I’m only getting the job because of my father,” Riccardo retorts, his voice calm but Pippo can see his fingers are gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles are turning white, “That’s why my brother never came back from the US after graduating from Harvard. He got a way out – I don’t have that.”  
  
“I thought he got married in the US?” Pippo asks, mostly to keep Riccardo talking.  
  
“He did, but that was only after he’d decided he wanted to stay,” Riccardo chuckles humourlessly, pushing his hair back from his face before continuing in a gentler tone, “They have a daughter, Diletta. She’s two and a half now. I’m supposed to be her godfather and I haven’t even met her yet.”  
  
He is watching the children again longingly, “You don’t have any children yet, do you?”  
  
“Never married, no children,” Pippo confirms with a shrug against Riccardo’s shoulder, “I do have a nephew, Tommaso. He’s ten. Great kid.”  
  
“You  _will_  marry, though,” Riccardo reminds him pointedly before going back to his own story, “I always thought I wanted kids, lots of them. But I don’t want them to grow up like we did – competing with each other, only seeing our father when he came home for the Christmas dinner.”  
  
“Then you shouldn’t make it like that for them,” Pippo simply says, reaching out to lay his hand over Riccardo’s on the railing, “You’re smart and highly educated – what you wanna do with your life is all up to you.”  
  
“It’s not that easy,” Riccardo argues, pulling his hand out of Pippo’s hold defiantly, “No matter where I go, it’ll be the same as with Mr. Galliani: I only matter because of my father.”  
  
Pippo cannot really relate to that, because in terms of career development, he and Riccardo are the polar opposites – Pippo started from the bottom while Riccardo has always been put on a pedestal, above everyone else purely because of his family.  
  
But when Pippo thinks about it, maybe they are not so different after all.  
  
“Come with me, I wanna show you something,” he tells Riccardo and turns to walk away from the railing, not even looking back to make sure Riccardo is following – he knows he is.  
  
They walk through the third class corridors, down the steep staircases until they make it to the cargo hold with all the automobiles. There is barely enough light and the sound of the engines is much louder than in the upper decks, but Pippo can still find his way around the vehicles that are firmly anchored to the floor.  
  
The cars they are exporting are in the farthest corner. Pippo opens the door on the driver’s side for one of them and tells Riccardo to sit down.  
  
He half-expects Riccardo to say something sarcastic at that, but the boy follows the order without a word, slipping behind the wheel carefully, running his fingers over the dashboard in amazement.  
  
“I’ve never driven one of these before,” Riccardo admits once Pippo has rounded the car and sat on the passenger seat.  
  
“You’re not driving one today either, if that’s what you were thinking,” Pippo jokes with a half-smile, sitting back on the soft seat, studying the way Riccardo observes the wheel and the dashboard, his hands never stopping, as if memorizing every little detail with his fingertips.  
  
Riccardo has the tip of his tongue tucked between his teeth, an expression of full concentration, and Pippo has to use all his willpower to stop himself from kissing him right then.  
  
“I designed this car,” Pippo finally says – Riccardo reluctantly drags his attention away from the dashboard to look at him – “Every part of it. It’s what I do – it’s what I’m good at.”  
  
“Is this the part where you give me the speech about following my dreams and finding my own path in life?” Riccardo asks flatly, but there is a small smile tugging on his lips, “Because I’ve heard it many times before.”  
  
“I’m sure you have,” Pippo states simply before carrying on like Riccardo had not just interrupted him, “I was always told I had a knack with machinery. It’s what was expected of me: developing a new type of engine, making a design that was better than the competitor’s. That’s why I was hired in the first place.”  
  
Pippo is caressing the dashboard with his hand as he speaks, gentle and loving, “I never expected to be anything else but that engineer. But then I proved myself – showed what I was capable of – and suddenly I was supervising the whole product line.”  
  
“On the way to take over the whole company,” Riccardo adds for him. He is leaning forwards, his hands resting on the steering wheel, but his eyes are fixed on Pippo, “About to marry the president’s daughter.”  
  
“The point is, I never planned any of it. That’s the funny part about life: you can never know for sure what’s gonna happen,” Pippo reaches out to push a stray lock of hair behind Riccardo’s ear, “You’ll take your place in your father’s corporation, do what’s expected of you. But who’s to say that’s all you’re ever gonna be? You can go there and earn their respect through your own actions, and you might turn out to be a greater man than your father could ever be.”  
  
“Or I might turn out a failure,” Riccardo points out quietly, but Pippo cannot find any insecurities or doubts in his expression – he is only acknowledging the possibility.  
  
“No, you won’t,” Pippo tells him with a confident smile, “I saw how you played Adriano yesterday. You’ve got this amazing skill of reading people, knowing exactly what they want to hear. That’s a skill that’s gonna take you far in the business world.”  
  
Riccardo bites his lip as he returns the smile, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, wordless gratitude shining from his every feature. This time Pippo does not bother fighting his urges: he leans in and kisses Riccardo gently.  
  
“I knew it: you only brought me here for the hot and steamy sex in the backseat!” Riccardo declares triumphantly when Pippo pulls away, laughter bubbling in his every word.  
  
“Keep wishing. It’s not my car, it’s the customer’s – no way in hell I’m gonna mess it up just because you couldn’t keep it in your pants!” Pippo is laughing even as he voices his protests. Unsurprisingly, it does not stop Riccardo from crawling into his lap, and Pippo makes no effort to push him away.  
  
“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it,” Riccardo whispers against his lips, his arms wrapped around Pippo’s neck and hands running through his hair in gentle strokes, “You and me, back there, you fucking me right into those very comfortable-looking seats, until I’m screaming your name over and over and over again...”  
  
Riccardo is nibbling Pippo’s lower lip between the words but pulls away just when Pippo moves to deepen the kiss. He laughs softly, so close Pippo can feel him more than hear him, “Say you want it.”  
  
“I  _do_  want it,” Pippo admits immediately, sliding his hands to Riccardo’s waist, untucking his shirt carefully, “But it’s still not my car. And it’s not nearly as comfortable as it looks.”  
  
“Told like a true professional,” Riccardo giggles, his breath warm of Pippo’s face, and this time Pippo does not let him pull away, kissing the laugh right off his lips, pushing his tongue into the willing mouth demandingly.  
  
Riccardo is the first to take things further, untangling one of his hands from Pippo’s hair and pushing it between their bodies, cupping Pippo’s crotch through his pants, drawing a sharp gasp from him.  
  
“You were saying?” Riccardo asks innocently, dropping chaste kisses on Pippo’s lips between each word as he works to open his pants, and then he slips his hand inside his underwear, grasping his cock firmly. Pippo cannot stop the breathy moan from escaping his lips.  
  
“You’re impossible,” Pippo tells him, the following laugh coming out as another moan when Riccardo adjusts his hand on his cock and starts jerking him off slowly.  
  
“You know,” Riccardo trails his lips from Pippo’s mouth to his cheek and then his ear, nibbling the earlobe gently before whispering, “This’d be so much better if it was mutual.”  
  
Pippo splays his hands on Riccardo’s waist, under the hem of his shirt – Riccardo shivers at the cool touch – and turns his head to press his mouth against Riccardo’s cheek as he repeats his earlier words, “You’re impossible, Riccardo.”  
  
“Would you have me any other way?” Riccardo counters, his voice laced with amusement. He ducks his head lower and licks the line of Pippo’s neck, his teeth grazing the skin but not really biting. His hand is still working on Pippo’s cock in lazy jerks, teasing him.  
  
“Probably not,” Pippo gasps out, rubbing Riccardo’s skin under his palms before he slides his fingers under the waistband of his trousers.  
  
“Then how about you stop complaining and  _just fucking touch me already_.”  
  
It is not a request, not even a demand – it is an order.  
  
“You’ll make a fine president one day,” Pippo notes softly – so quietly Riccardo probably cannot even hear him – before he does as he is told: he opens Riccardo’s pants and takes him into his hand, mimicking the slow rhythm of Riccardo’s hand on his own cock.  
  
Riccardo bites his neck when Pippo rubs his thumb over the tip of his cock, and then he licks and kisses the same spot apologetically.  
  
He tightens his hold on Pippo’s length to get back at him, making Pippo throw his head back, a ragged breath escaping his lips. Riccardo takes the chance to attack Pippo’s exposed neck with deadly intent, sucking on his pulse point greedily.  
  
It is nothing but hurried fumbling, erratic movements with only the intention of getting off. The front seat is too cramped, there are too many hands, and no matter how much they squirm, they cannot seem to get close enough.  
  
It is clumsy, rushed, and far from perfect, but at the same time Pippo cannot remember ever wanting anyone as much as he wants Riccardo when he comes into his pants for the second time in two days, Riccardo’s hand spreading his come over his length with the last few jerks.  
  
“Just a bit more,” Riccardo whimpers against Pippo’s neck, his hips bucking frantically against Pippo’s hand, “Please, just a little harder, I’m gonna—”  
  
The last words are swallowed into a breathy moan, his lips still pressed against Pippo’s neck, and Pippo can feel the tremors the muffled sound sends through his body.  
  
They stay in place for a few moments, trying to catch their breaths, their hands still in each other’s pants.  
  
Then Riccardo laughs: it begins as soft giggles, but then the first chuckles come out, and before Pippo can even begin to understand what is so funny, Riccardo’s whole body is shaking with laughter.  
  
“Sorry, it’s not even funny,” Riccardo mumbles against Pippo’s skin, but the undignified snort he lets out says otherwise, “I just— I never thought I’d find someone like you on this ship. And now we’re here, acting like bunnies in heat. Fucking in a  _fucking_  automobile.”  
  
“You really wanna compare us to bunnies?” Pippo asks, but now he is starting to see the humour in the situation as well.  
  
“I wanted to go with ‘hormonal teenagers’ but I didn’t wanna give you a reason to make fun of my age again,” Riccardo admits as he finally leans back, facing Pippo properly, visibly calming down even though his eyes are still filled with laughter.  
  
“So, what now?” Pippo asks softly once he is certain Riccardo is not about to burst into another fit of giggles, “It’s almost dinnertime, so we could go into our cabins, get changed, and then meet up for dinner before I take you into my suite and proceed to fuck you into the next week.”  
  
“Or…” Riccardo stretches the word on purpose, fishing out Pippo’s watch from his breast pocket and studying it curiously, “I could take you into my cabin and you could fuck me into the next week  _right now_. And then you could buy me dinner at the Ritz afterwards.”  
  
“Did I already tell you you’re gonna make a splendid president one day?” Pippo asks amusedly, sliding one of his hands up to caress the back of Riccardo’s neck.  
  
“You might’ve mentioned it,” Riccardo pecks Pippo’s lips playfully, only for Pippo to hold him there, dragging out the kiss on purpose.  
  
“So, my cabin it is?” Riccardo asks when they finally break the kiss. Pippo’s only answer is to kiss him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Lo and behold, we have our car sex scene! Did you reeeeaaally think I’d skip that part? I might not be a huge fan of the 1997 movie, but some scenes are just made for AU references. This was one of them. (You’re welcome.)  
> \- Speaking of cars on the Titanic, it’s doubtful there were that many on board to begin with. Maybe around ten, twenty? Most of them would’ve been either like the ones mentioned here – newest models being exported to the US – or first class passengers’ personal rides. Maybe some from the second class as well. Anyways, a bunch of really nice cars, lying in the bottom of the ocean even as we speak.  
> \- Adding to that, the automobiles would’ve been loaded into the cargo hold a few days in advance – meaning the passengers definitely didn’t drive to the port in the morning like the movie shows. The vehicles were carefully anchored to the bottom of the cargo deck to keep them from moving and crashing into each other. To be honest, I doubt people would’ve been able to just walk into the cargo hold and enter the cars like they did here, even if it was their own car like in Pippo’s case.  
> \- Monto really has a niece, Diletta ("Dindi" - I'm fairly sure she's Monto's brother's daughter but she might also be from Cristina's side of the family, idek), and Pippo's nephew (Simone Inzaghi's son from a relationship that has since ended) is called Tommaso. Anyways, from what I've seen, they're both model examples of doting uncles, which is why I had to include the part about children. Oh, and Monto has said before that he wants to have a big family, so that's totally canon even though lots of his family history is completely made up in this story!  
> \- I feel like I'm forgetting some important historical reference right now... Please ask me if there's anything you don't understand?
> 
> \- Feedback would be most appreciated!


	5. Calm Before the Storm: April 14, 1912

_"I cannot imagine any condition which would cause a ship to founder. I cannot conceive of any vital disaster happening to this vessel. Modern ship building has gone beyond that." – Captain Edward John Smith, RMS Titanic_  
  
  
  
Pippo cannot remember time ever flying by quite as fast as it does on that chilly Sunday afternoon he spends in Riccardo’s single berth cabin.  
  
They skip breakfast, deliberately sleeping in with no intention of showing their faces to the world before the lunchtime at the earliest.  
  
When Pippo finally grows bored of staying in bed, he wakes Riccardo up with a blowjob, initiating morning sex that ensures they will not make it out of the cabin for another hour at least.  
  
At lunchtime, Pippo makes a quick detour to his own suite, getting a fresh change of clothes and giving Adriano some made-up excuse about some woman he had met the other day. Adriano obviously does not buy the explanation, but Pippo cannot bring himself to care.  
  
They have lunch at the Café Parisien, sitting right by the window. It is a nice change to their normal routines, even though Pippo cannot concentrate on the inarguably splendid meal because Riccardo keeps running his foot up and down his calf, shooting him pointed looks over the table.  
  
They have sex for the second time that day right after, safely hidden behind the locked doors of Riccardo’s cabin. Afterwards they doze off again, their limbs entangled and the sheets falling off from under their bodies.  
  
“Remind me again why I shouldn’t hire you?” Pippo asks quietly when they are both laying awake in the narrow bed, Riccardo reading a book – it is different one from a few days ago – his head pillowed on Pippo’s chest comfortably.  
  
“Because you’d grow bored of me after a few weeks, and then you’d be stuck with an old lay working for you,” Riccardo tells him with a sardonic smile, not even looking up at his book, “And I’d be stuck in a country I’ve never lived in, with no one there but you to rely on.”  
  
“You’re making it sound like I was incapable of commitment,” Pippo chuckles quietly, but despite his argumentative tone, he knows Riccardo is probably right.  
  
“Aren’t you?” Riccardo asks, and now he is tilting his head back, looking up at Pippo’s face curiously, “No matter how great the sex is, it can only get you so far. Don’t even try to tell me I’m any different from all your previous fucks.”  
  
But Riccardo  _is_  different, because with him there were never any expectations, unlike with most people Pippo has been involved with.  
  
It is what makes the sex so amazing: they can concentrate on what feels good now, instead of worrying what might come later. Because there is no  _later_  for them – they only have these few more days at the sea, and then they will be on their separate ways, possibly never to see each other again.  
  
“You might be right,” Pippo admits instead of voicing his thoughts. He slips his hand into Riccardo’s hair, combing through the soft curls with his fingers, “But I am going to miss the sex.”  
  
“Are you trying to seduce me again, Mr. Inzaghi?” Riccardo asks with a teasing smile, finally turning around so that he is lying half on top of Pippo, his fingers drawing irregular shapes on his bare chest.  
  
“Doesn’t take much trying when I already have you in my bed,” Pippo retorts lazily, but he lets Riccardo scoot forwards and peck his lips nonetheless.  
  
“Maybe you haven’t realized,” Riccardo smiles against his lips before kissing them again, “But it’s actually  _my_  bed, Mr. Inzaghi.”  
  
“So you’re saying you’re the one who seduced me?”  
  
“Are you saying that’s not what happened?”  
  
“I’d be lying if I did,” Pippo chuckles into the next kiss, one of his hands sliding away from Riccardo’s hair and down his spine, “You’ve got me, Riccardo.”  
  
They have sex again one more time before the dinnertime rolls around, with Riccardo astride in Pippo’s lap, his book lying forgotten on the floor next to the bed.  
  
  
  
“How much longer is this going to take?” Pippo grumbles to Adriano during the dinner party he would have much rather skipped altogether.  
  
Pippo knows the American couple hosting the party, the Wideners, have had some kind of dealings with President Berlusconi before, which is why they had been invited to the Ritz that night, for the party hosted in Captain Smith’s honour.  
  
Adriano had only huffed at Pippo’s poor attempts to get out of the obligation, reminding him once again that he is the one about to become a part of the Berlusconi family, and therefore he should be jumping at the opportunity to build his ties with the family associates.  
  
“As long as they want it to take,” Adriano tells him curtly, not even lifting his gaze from his meal, obviously still miffed with Pippo’s sudden disappearing act, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll still have plenty of time for that little plaything of yours afterwards.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pippo mumbles as he sips his wine just as the orchestra switches to Tchaikovsky, “I just don’t understand why it was so important to have me in here in the first place.”  
  
“Don’t you?” Adriano asks quietly, his voice lowered to make sure no one else hears him even though most people around them would not even understand him, “You’ve been dining privately with that boy of yours twice in a row now – people are beginning to talk and we can’t have that.”  
  
“What, I’m not allowed to have friends now? You were the one who told me to get close to him,” Pippo argues, rolling his eyes for the good measure.  
  
A few business associates pass by their table, interrupting the exchange momentarily with their polite greetings, but Adriano picks up the subject the moment they are out of earshot again, “I did  _not_  tell you to jump into bed with him. I specifically told you not to draw attention to your affairs.”  
  
“And I’m not,” Pippo retorts immediately, the response coming out a bit too fast to sound convincing, “Riccardo is a charming young man and I’m only enjoying his company while I can. That’s what friends do.”  
  
“Don’t you lie to me, boy,” Adriano says darkly, glaring at Pippo under his knitted eyebrows, “I might be old, but I’m not stupid. I let you off the hook once back in Italy, but here you’re constantly in the public eye – if the press gets a whiff of this, I can’t help you anymore.”  
  
“I swear to you, Adriano, this time there’s nothing you need to worry about,” Pippo murmurs just as the waiters start serving dessert, “This is all business: I’m just making sure we’ll have a stepping stone in the South American market when the President decides we need to expand our horizons.”  
  
Adriano does not appear particularly convinced, which is why Pippo stops complaining and instead puts up his most cheery front, complimenting Mrs. Widener’s dress happily when she stops by their table, letting his natural charm do most of the work.  
  
  
  
Pippo’s watch reads five past eleven when he finally makes it back to Riccardo’s cabin – following the numerous conversations he would rather forget, the handful of dances with girls whose faces he cannot even remember, and the cigar and two shots of whiskey in the smoking room he had tried to decline – and not for the first time he wonders if he would be happier as a simple engineer.  
  
“You’re late,” Riccardo comments as he unlocks the door and lets Pippo in, “I was starting to think you’d stood me up, found some pretty girl in the party – I was just planning a visit to Mathieu’s cabin.”  
  
He has a sheet wrapped around his waist. As it drops lower, revealing one of his hipbones, it becomes obvious that is all he is wearing.  
  
“What’s the point of finding someone else when I have the most delicious man on the ship waiting for me – naked – ready for another round?” Pippo asks with a confident smirk. He takes a hold of the sheet and pulls it off completely, lets it drop on the floor unceremoniously.  
  
“How am I supposed to know how long your attention span can last?” Riccardo counters with a teasing smile, but he offers no resistance when Pippo pulls him into a kiss, hands settling on the bare hips.  
  
“Trying to play modest with me now?” he mutters against Riccardo’s lips, digging his fingertips into the smooth skin, “You’re perfectly aware you’re too damn good for me to walk away from you after only one day.”  
  
“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Riccardo huffs out with a laugh when Pippo ducks his head to the side to kiss his neck. He lets Pippo push him backwards towards the bed, sitting down when the backs of his legs hit the edge.  
  
Pippo follows the movement without unlatching his lips from Riccardo’s neck, one of his knees settling on the mattress, his upper body twisted almost in half in order not to break the contact.  
  
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without your tux?” Riccardo asks impishly. He makes no move to act on his words, though, just angling his head to reveal more of his neck for Pippo’s lips.  
  
Pippo does not say a word; he only presses a palm on Riccardo’s chest and pushes him until he is lying flat on his back. Then he slides his hand down, caressing the flat stomach gently before grasping his cock into a loose hold. A soft gasp is the only sound that escapes Riccardo’s lips.  
  
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers against Riccardo’s skin, ghosting his lips over his collarbone, “Every second of that ridiculous party. All I could think about was fucking you.”  
  
He tightens his hold around Riccardo’s length, enjoying the feeling of him growing harder under his touch. Riccardo bucks himself into his hand, just one jerk before he catches himself, visibly forcing himself to stop the movements, waiting for Pippo to make the next move.  
  
“Turn around,” Pippo tells him in a low voice, pulling his hands away and standing up, shrugging off his jacket. Riccardo is studying him as he pulls the bowtie off and starts working on the buttons of his vest. He only follows Pippo’s order after he repeats himself more sharply.  
  
Pippo pushes off the vest and opens the buttons of his shirt, all the while following Riccardo’s movements with his eyes: his arched back as he sits up and kneels on the mattress; the shape of his face when he looks over his shoulder to meet Pippo’s eyes; the way shadows reveal the shape of his spine in the low lighting of the cabin.  
  
“You’re incredible,” he tells Riccardo softly as he presses up against his back, fingers tracing the shape of his hipbones, his still clothed erection pressed against the curve of his butt.  
  
Riccardo laughs at the comment, leaning his head back against Pippo’s shoulder, rolling his hips slowly against his crotch as he whispers, “I know.”  
  
Pippo kisses his shoulder in response, then drags his lips over his upper back, tracing the first few bumps of his spine with his teeth. Riccardo’s body follows the touches like on instinct, pushing against his mouth, his back arching so that his backside presses against Pippo’s cock at the same time.  
  
The lube is waiting on the table next to the bed and Pippo just reaches it without breaking the contact of their bodies.  
  
Riccardo whines softly in discomfort when Pippo pushes a finger through his entrance, but the clenching of his insides subsides much faster than it did the previous night, his body growing more used to the intrusion each time they do this.  
  
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Pippo still feels obliged to ask.  
  
“You still take me for a virgin?” Riccardo retorts with a smile that seems only half-forced as he wills his body to relax and welcome the stretching.  
  
“Definitely not,” Pippo chuckles, kissing his way down Riccardo’s back until he is kneeling behind him, actually seeing the hole clenching around his finger, “But I have met even experienced guys that can’t take it more than once a day.”  
  
“Good thing I’m not one of them,” Riccardo hums amusedly, pushing back against Pippo’s hand demandingly.  
  
Pippo starts out by moving his finger around carefully, slowly stretching the entrance, dropping lazy kisses around the small of Riccardo’s back and the tops of his buttocks. He adds another finger only when Riccardo’s movements get more frantic, a frustrated sound falling from his lips.  
  
“All in good time,” Pippo berates him softly, kissing one of his buttocks as he keeps circling his fingers inside him. He trails his mouth closer to the entrance, blowing softly on the skin around his digits, earning a surprised whimper in return. Encouraged by the reaction, he leans in to lick the puckered area, and this time Riccardo moans out loud.  
  
“No one’s ever—” Riccardo begins but cannot get any further before Pippo pulls his fingers out and presses his mouth against the entrance instead, licking the clenching hole experimentally. He splays his hands on Riccardo’s buttocks, feeling the tremors running under his touch.  
  
He has never done this before, either, but if it can make Riccardo make sounds like that, it cannot be a bad thing. He uses his hands to part Riccardo’s buttocks a bit more, pressing his mouth more firmly against the entrance.  
  
“Please stop,” Riccardo gasps out after a while. His legs are visibly shaking and there are trickles of sweat running down his back, “I want you inside me, now.”  
  
“You sure?” Pippo asks in a low voice, pulling back and kissing one of his buttocks gently, “I could make you come like this, wouldn’t even have to touch your cock.”  
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Riccardo lets out a constricted chuckle and he looks down over his shoulder, meeting Pippo’s eyes, “Let me hold onto a shed of my dignity, will you?”  
  
“As you like it,” Pippo says softly, spreading more lube on his hand and pushing two fingers inside Riccardo one more time to make sure he is prepared well enough.  
  
Satisfied with the lack of resistance, he stands up and pushes his trousers and underwear down his legs, shrugging the open shirt off his shoulders. He uses the remaining lube on his hand to coat his own length, pressing the tip against the waiting entrance.  
  
Riccardo takes in a deep breath as Pippo pushes in, leaning his weight back against Pippo’s chest, letting him wrap his arms around his waist. He releases the breath he is holding only when Pippo pulls back and thrusts in again, an unguarded moan falling off his lips.  
  
Riccardo’s whole body is trembling, which makes staying upright harder with each new thrust.  
  
“Let’s lie down,” Pippo whispers into Riccardo’s ear, nibbling the lobe gently. Riccardo follows his lead, first leaning forward and then moving onto his side, Pippo spooning him, one of his legs lifted over Pippo’s thigh to pull him even closer.  
  
It feels like this is the closest they could ever get, Pippo’s cock buried deep inside Riccardo, their position making his thrust short, Riccardo’s hips rolling to meet his every movement eagerly.  
  
Pippo grasps Riccardo’s cock into his hand when he can feel the tremors of his own orgasm approaching, jerking him off in fast movements until Riccardo lets out a long breathy moan and his come seeps over Pippo’s fingers.  
  
It is only then that Pippo lets himself go, riding the tight clenching of Riccardo’s body around him, shooting his seed inside him, moaning out his release right into his ear.  
  
They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, before Pippo finally pulls out of Riccardo and adjust his position so he can properly collect Riccardo into his arms and kiss him thoroughly.  
  
Right then, there is a tremor that runs through the body of the ship, just strong enough to pull Pippo’s attention away from Riccardo’s lips. Anywhere else on the ship he might have chalked it up to the engines, but the first class cabins are built as far away from the machinery as possible to stop interruptions just like this one.  
  
“What is it?” Riccardo asks curiously – he obviously did not realize the vibration at all – covering Pippo’s hand on his waist with his own.  
  
“I thought I felt something,” Pippo mutters thoughtfully but then decides to ignore the suspicious feeling lurking at the corner of his mind, “Sorry, I’m sure it was nothing.”  
  
He presses another kiss on Riccardo’s lips to assure him everything is fine.  
  
The clock on the wall reads a little past eleven forty as Pippo closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Café Parisien imitated the style of sidewalk cafés in Paris with wide windows giving a view of the sea to the diners. It was a new innovation on ocean liners and particularly popular among the young adults from the first class. The menu was virtually same with the Ritz.  
> \- The Wideners (a couple from Philadelphia) did throw a dinner party in honour of Captain Smith on the night of the sinking.  
> \- About the lubricant: the first commercially produced water-based lubricant (K-Y Jelly) came to market in 1904. Apparently it wasn’t marketed for sexual use at the time, but it’d be naïve to assume it wasn’t used as such, especially among gay men who’d been stuck with oils and messy silicon based stuff before that.  
> \- As for the protection, there was little to none sexual education available for gay men at the time – there even used to be misconceptions that STDs weren’t transmitted through gay sex – so it’d be historically inaccurate to make them use condom even though they were available. First real efforts to promote safe sex in the gay community came only with the HIV epidemic in the 1980s – even then with mixed results. Anyways, stay safe, people!  
> \- The Titanic struck the iceberg at 11:40 pm (the ship’s time) on April 14, 1912. This is where the fun starts, kids!
> 
> \- Feedback would be much appreciated!


	6. Fight for the Chance: April 15, 1912

_"I was only seven but I remember thinking that everything in the world was standing still." – Eva Hart, Titanic Survivor_  
  
  
  
Pippo is just about to doze off when he hears noise from the hallway – sounds of stewards walking down the corridor, knocking the cabin doors, politely calling for the inhabitants to wake up.  
  
It takes him a while to untangle himself from Riccardo’s embrace without waking him up, but he manages in the end. The effort turns out futile, though, when there is a loud knock on the door before he has a chance to get dressed and go see what the commotion is about.  
  
“What is it?” Riccardo grumbles quietly, slowly coming out of his slumber just as Pippo pulls his underwear and dress shirt on and heads for the door.  
  
“Just wait there, I’ll go find out,” Pippo tries to keep his voice calm, even though his gut feeling is telling him it cannot be anything good – the earlier tremors are still fresh in his mind and he knows the crew would not rouse the passengers for anything minor.  
  
The steward’s eyes widen in surprise when it is Pippo instead of Riccardo opening the door – the first class stewards have been assigned to specific cabins from the day one, so obviously he knows Pippo should not be there. His eyes dart from Pippo’s open shirt towards the bed where Riccardo is sitting up now, wrapped in the wrinkled sheets but still very obviously naked.  
  
“What is it? Is there a problem with the ship?” Pippo asks sharply, interrupting the man’s thought process on purpose, hopefully before he has time to jump into any conclusions, no matter how correct they would be.  
  
“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your sleep like this, sir,” the steward snaps back into attention, addressing Pippo directly, “There was a minor incident – nothing serious, I assure you – but as a precaution we’d like to ask you to get dressed and move to the boat deck.”  
  
“What kind of an ‘incident’? Should we be worried?” Pippo urges, glancing over his shoulder at Riccardo who is looking increasingly confused.  
  
The steward only smiles politely as he answers, “There’s nothing to worry about, sir, if you’d just move to the deck for now. The captain only wishes to make sure everything’s working as it should. I must warn you it’s cold outside – would you like me to help you dress?”  
  
“No, we’ll be fine. Boat deck, right?” Pippo waves him off, because obviously the steward is as unaware of the situation as they are.  
  
“Is this some kind of a drill?” Riccardo asks the moment Pippo closes the door again, pushing the sheets off himself and standing up, walking over to his trunk, “It’s nothing serious, right? He would’ve told us if it was.”  
  
“They wouldn’t have a drill in the middle of the night,” Pippo says quietly, contemplating the little information the steward has offered them, “I’m sure it’s nothing serious, though – they’d appear much more hurried if that was the case.”  
  
“You know the best, right?” Riccardo finally dares to offer him an uncertain smile as he starts pulling on clean clothes, “You wanna borrow some clothes? I doubt the tux’s warm enough out there.”  
  
Pippo accepts the offered attire – he and Riccardo are almost the same size, so the clothes fit him like they were his own – and they both get dressed as quickly as they can. Riccardo hands him an extra sweater just as they are about to leave the cabin, not saying a word, but Pippo can see a glimpse of nervousness in his eyes.  
  
“It’s gonna be fine,” Pippo assures him firmly as he takes the sweater and pulls it on before brushing his fingers over Riccardo’s cheek in a hopefully calming gesture.  
  
Another steward walks down the corridor just as they walk out of the cabin. He is carrying a pile of lifebelts, handing them out to the few people around the hallway, “Please, put these on, gentlemen, and proceed to the boat deck. You’ll get further instructions up there.”  
  
The silent dread in the back of Pippo’s mind amplifies as they pull on the lifebelts and start heading towards the closest exit. The interior of the ship is still alarmingly quiet, but as they reach the outer parts of the vessel, there is more noise – sound of steam escaping the pipes, sound Pippo knows should not be there.  
  
“Does the floor feel tilted to you?” Riccardo asks him quietly, taking a hold of his arm to pull him to a stop, “The sea looked so calm tonight, there shouldn’t be any swell to rock the ship, should there?”  
  
Pippo considers the words, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Riccardo is right, the ship is listing – it is barely noticeable, but it is still there – but Pippo is unwilling to admit it aloud just yet, “Let’s just go out and see what’s happening, okay?”  
  
He takes a hold of Riccardo’s hand and leads him towards the exit. The sound of the pipes is almost deafening when they finally step outside, and the passengers are crowding the boat deck, confused faces all around them.  
  
Someone mentions an iceberg – an almost-collision – and there are large chunks of ice on the deck to support the claim. The crew members are uncovering the lifeboats, communicating with each other through hand gestures, the noise on the deck too loud for them to exchange words.  
  
A terrifying thought strikes Pippo at once: if they had passed the iceberg close enough for ice to fall onto the deck, there must have been more damage on the hull. And there was the tremor that he could feel even inside the cabin – the actual impact must have been huge.  
  
“I’m going to find Captain Smith,” he tells Riccardo urgently, clutching his shoulders with both hands, practically yelling to make sure Riccardo can hear him, “Stay here; do as they tell you. And if they start launching the lifeboats – if you get a chance to get on one – then you take it.”  
  
“What’s happening?” Riccardo asks, fear now apparent in his eyes, and Pippo reads the words from his lips more than hears them, “Is the ship sinking?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Pippo tries to keep his voice calm, to keep Riccardo from panicking, “Just follow the orders. I’ll be right back.”  
  
The corridors are getting busier as Pippo runs through them, the passengers finally following the instructions to leave their cabins, although most of them are still not wearing their lifebelts. He wants to yell at them, tell them it is no joke. But why would they listen to him when they do not care about the crew’s orders either?  
  
In normal circumstances, passengers would not be allowed on the ship’s bridge, but obviously the severity of the situation has affected the guarding as well.  
  
Pippo is about to enter when a man rushes out and almost runs into him – First Officer Murdoch, Pippo recognizes immediately: they had first met prior to departure while Pippo was overseeing the loading of the cargo.  
  
The man is pale as a ghost and Pippo only barely manages to grab a hold of his arm before he rushes off again.  
  
“How bad is it?” he asks sharply, digging his fingers into the man’s arm, holding the eye contact forcibly, “Are we sinking?”  
  
Officer Murdoch hesitates just long enough to confirm Pippo’s suspicions even before he actually answers, “Five compartments are flooded – we have less than two hours. I’m sorry, Mr. Inzaghi.”  
  
Pippo’s hold on the man’s arm loosens as the message sinks in and the officer leaves him standing there, jogging out to the deck, probably to oversee the loading of the lifeboats.  
  
Panic is gripping Pippo’s insides. They are sinking. In less than two hours. There are not enough lifeboats for everyone on board, not by far. Is there any other ship nearby to save them? Or is it all going to end just like this?  
  
_Titanic is sinking._  
  
Suddenly there is laughter bubbling in his chest. He has to lean his back against the wall and cover his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking, desperately fighting against the hysterical giggles that are trying to push their way out of his mouth.  
  
It is not even remotely funny, but still he cannot stop the broken chuckles – the unsinkable ship is sinking and they will all either die on board or freeze to death in the sea, surrounded by icebergs all around them. He knew meeting someone like Riccardo had been too good to be true…  
  
The thought of Riccardo clears his mind immediately. Pippo had told him they could create their own futures: there is no reason to settle on what life throws at them.  
  
It startles Pippo to realize that while he can imagine himself going down with the Titanic, there is no way he is going to let the same thing happen to Riccardo. They will not go down without a fight.  
  
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he collects himself and heads back to the corridors. The elevator is out of order, so he runs down the stairs three steps at a time until he reaches the C Deck.  
  
Pippo is half-expecting to find Adriano still in their suite just like so many other passengers in the neighbouring cabins, but the suite is empty when he enters.  
  
Adriano’s wallet is gone, but all their important documents are still in the safe – passports, visas, customs declarations, dispatch notes… Pippo packs them all into a briefcase quickly, just in case.  
  
He locates his coat and scarf as well, pulling them over the lifebelt for extra warmth. After slipping a handful of personal belongings into his coat pockets – almost as an afterthought – he leaves the cabin and heads back to the boat deck.  
  
The cold night air hits Pippo’s face the moment he steps outside. He realizes only belatedly that he is on the different side from where he left Riccardo, but by the time he tries to turn around and return inside, the growing crowd has pushed him away from the door.  
  
One of the lifeboats is being loaded, but to Pippo’s surprise it is not even half-full. A few crew members are trying to persuade women on the deck to board the boat, obviously unsuccessful.  
  
“Pippo, there you are!” Adriano shakes his shoulder to catch his attention, pulling him into a fatherly hug the moment Pippo turns to face him, “I was looking everywhere for you! Do you have any idea what’s happening here?”  
  
Adriano is visibly calm, obviously still unaware of the severity of the situation. Pippo does not want to break that illusion, but at the same time he realizes he has no other option, as he notices the crew has now started allowing men on the first lifeboat.  
  
“Get on that boat, Adriano,” he says simply, holding his boss’s gaze resolutely.  
  
“What’s gone into you youngsters?” Adriano asks with a reassuring smile, “That boy of yours was just running around the deck, telling women and children to get on the lifeboats, and now you too? I’m sure we’re much safer up here than on those small boats.”  
  
“Riccardo was?” Pippo asks immediately, before the rest of Adriano’s words sink in, “No, Adriano, we’re not safe here. The ship’s sinking – those boats are your only chance of survival!”  
  
“You’re being serious, aren’t you?” Now there is a more serious expression on Adriano’s face, “Then why are you telling only me to get on the boat? Shouldn’t you be coming too?”  
  
“They’re gonna let you on because of your age,” –  _I can’t leave Riccardo behind_  – “I might still be needed on board. I’ll get on another boat, there’re plenty of them here.”  
  
Pippo manages to get Adriano on the first boat just before it is lowered, still only half-full.  
  
He pushes the briefcase into Adriano’s lap and thanks Officer Murdoch profusely for taking him on, but does not stick around to observe the boat’s launching, waving one last goodbye to Adriano before rushing off to find Riccardo.  
  
Adriano had said Riccardo was on the deck, trying to convince other passengers to board the lifeboats, but he did not say which side he was on. Pippo runs down the starboard side once, looking around in hopes of spotting him, but with no luck.  
  
Another lifeboat is being lowered as Pippo decides he needs to return to the port side where he had left Riccardo earlier. He tells himself Riccardo might have already boarded a lifeboat on his own, just like Pippo told him to, but at the same time he has a creeping feeling that is not the case.  
  
The ship is obviously listing now as Pippo jogs towards the stern of the ship, the upward tilt and the ice on the deck making the task harder than expected. There is much more ice on the starboard deck, he notices suddenly, which means the impact must have come from that side.  
  
Riccardo is not where Pippo had left him – close to the stern on the port side – which does not surprise Pippo in the least. It makes finding him much harder, though, and for the first time Pippo wonders why exactly they had to board such an enormous ship instead of some smaller vessel.  
  
A smaller and slower ship would probably not be sinking right now, he thinks bitterly as he elbows his way through the crowd. It seems like people are finally starting to realize the danger they are in, cautiously making their way towards the lifeboats.  
  
“Only women and children, please!” Pippo hears a crew member yelling. The boat is only filled to less than half the capacity, just like the ones on the other side, yet there are still no men allowed on board as the boat is lowered to the water.  
  
Someone is complaining, angrily yelling at the officer supervising the loading, but Pippo cannot make out the words, the voice drowning into the general ruckus as he continues his search for Riccardo.  
  
“Where are you?” he mumbles to himself as he walks up and down the deck over and over again, familiar and unfamiliar faces mixing in his eyes until they are nothing more than an unrecognizable mass, but still there is no Riccardo.  
  
One glance at his pocket watch – it reads twenty past one – reveals it has been over an hour since Pippo left Riccardo alone on the deck. Panic is gripping his lungs again, making it harder to breathe.  
  
Third class passengers are starting to trickle onto the boat deck, which makes moving around even harder than before. People are starting to panic, pushing on the lifeboats, trying to force their way on board.  
  
Pippo has been able to keep the fear for his own wellbeing in check by focusing on finding Riccardo, but as the yelling and screaming around him intensifies, it all crashes back down – what if he cannot get out of this?  
  
Suddenly there are three gunshots and the whole crowd stills immediately, scared murmur filling the air.  
  
Pippo takes advantage of the stunned silence, pushing his way to the direction where the shots were fired, towards the next lifeboat about to be lowered. An officer is talking to someone on the boat – a man – telling him to get off, to ‘be a man and give your place to the women and children.’  
  
“Pippo.”  
  
It is barely audible but still that one word lifts an immense weight off Pippo’s shoulders.  
  
Riccardo is standing by the railing, looking alarmingly calm, his demeanour almost a mockery of the panic Pippo has been fighting against for almost an hour now.  
  
“Thank God,” Pippo breathes out and stumbles over to Riccardo, practically collapsing into him as he catches him into a tight embrace, relishing the feeling of having him back in his arms, real and tangible and  _safe_ , “Don’t disappear on me like that again, I was worried sick!”  
  
“But I was right here,” Riccardo replies blandly – his arms stay at his sides, not even trying to return Pippo’s hug – “Helping to load the boats, trying to get the women and children out to safety.”  
  
Something is not right, Pippo realizes as he releases his hold on Riccardo. Riccardo should be terrified; he should be worrying about himself, not about some people he has never met before. But there is no fear in Riccardo’s eyes, only cold resignation.  
  
“Why haven’t you gotten on a lifeboat yet?” Pippo asks quietly, searching Riccardo’s eyes carefully, trying to read his reactions, “Officer Murdoch’s been allowing men to board on the starboard side, surely you know that?”  
  
“I know,” Riccardo confirms, deliberately looking down at his hands, breaking the eye contact, “But it’d be cowardly. We should save the women and children – that’s the captain’s orders.”  
  
“Bullshit!” Pippo retorts harshly, grabbing a hold of Riccardo’s shoulders and shaking him hard, “This ship’s going down! Do you really think dying here’d be somehow  _heroic_? Newsflash: it’s not!”  
  
Riccardo is biting his lip, but he is still refusing to meet Pippo’s eyes.  
  
“Listen, Riccardo,” Pippo tries again, this time forcing himself to calm down, “We’re on a sinking ship: it’s okay to be scared. Hell, it’s natural to be scared – I’m terrified myself.”  
  
None of the other passengers pay them any mind – to them they are just two unfamiliar men speaking in a language they do not understand – so Pippo lifts his hands to caress Riccardo’s face gently, leaning in until their foreheads are pressed together.  
  
“You wanted to see your niece, didn’t you? Diletta, was it? You’re gonna die without meeting her even once if we don’t get out of here tonight,” Pippo is speaking in a low voice, a soft murmur only meant for Riccardo’s ears, “You’ll be just another name among all those that didn’t make it. You’ll never get a chance to prove yourself. Lost, mourned, forgotten. You don’t want that, Riccardo, I know you don’t.”  
  
“I don’t want it,” Riccardo breathes out, his voice trembling. He lifts one of his hands to wrap his fingers around Pippo’s wrist carefully.  
  
“Then don’t just accept it. Not like this. We’ve still got a fighting chance.”  
  
“Okay,” Riccardo says softly, nodding his head for good measure, his nose brushing against Pippo’s.  
  
“Okay,” Pippo echoes his words, stroking his fingertips over Riccardo’s cheeks gently. A relieved smile is tugging on his lips even though he should not be smiling, not when they are still on a sinking ship with no guarantee of rescue.  
  
For a second, Pippo wonders if this is what  _love_  feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The iceberg struck Titanic on the starboard side, damaging the hull severely, and the flooding began right away. The bottom of the vessel was divided into sixteen “watertight” compartments (they weren’t that tight, actually) and the ship could survive flooding of up to four of them. When the first five compartments were gone (and counting), it was obvious the Titanic wouldn’t make it.  
> \- The stewards began rousing the passengers a little after midnight. Most of the passengers were unwilling to go out to the deck because they didn’t believe the danger was that severe – the crew didn’t tell them the ship was sinking.  
> \- The loading of lifeboats was underway around 0:20, but the first boat was lowered only around 0:45, mostly due to passengers being unwilling to board the boat, thinking it was safer to stay on the ship. In addition, the boats weren’t filled even close to their full capacity at the beginning, which meant even less people were saved than could’ve been possible.  
> \- The order was to evacuate women and children, but this was interpreted differently by the officers: First Officer Murdoch (starboard side) did, in fact, allow men to board if there were no women or children nearby, while Second Officer Lightoller (port side) only allowed women and children even if it meant lowering the boats half-empty. Maybe ironically, Lightoller himself survived the disaster while Murdoch went down with the ship.  
> \- I could go into a long explanation on how the loading of lifeboats progressed, but everyone knows the story anyways, right? Feel free to ask me if there’s anything you wish to know!
> 
> \- Feedback would be lovely!


	7. Going Down: April 15, 1912

_"The sounds of people drowning are something that I cannot describe to you, and neither can anyone else. It’s the most dreadful sound and there is a terrible silence that follows it." – Eva Hart, Titanic survivor_  
  
  
  
“Stick close to the lifeboats,” Pippo tells Riccardo quietly as they make their way to the starboard side, Riccardo’s hand clutched in his own to keep them from getting separated again by the panicking masses, “Help gather the women and children, they’re not gonna let men board before them. Wait for a chance and don’t hesitate to take it, even if I’m not there.”  
  
“But you’re gonna be there, right?” Riccardo asks, his wide eyes practically begging for Pippo not to leave him, “We’re gonna get away from here together, right?”  
  
“Right,” Pippo assures him softly, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss Riccardo’s knuckles, “I’m not leaving you, Riccardo.”  
  
A woman is crying hysterically, refusing the board the lifeboat, as if sitting in an open boat was scarier than drowning in the freezing water. Another lady is saying her goodbyes to her husband, who makes no attempt to board the boat with her. Someone is screaming.  
  
“What if we don’t make it?” Riccardo asks as they watch the next boat being lowered, this one much fuller than any of the previous ones. There are only a few men among the passengers.  
  
“We will,” Pippo tries to keep his voice steady as he pulls Riccardo along towards the next boat.  
Officer Murdoch catches his eye from where he is supervising the evacuation, recognition flashing in his expression, but then he quickly turns his attention back to the group of second class women boarding the boat.  
  
Riccardo spots a group of third class passengers who are speaking German and heads towards them, reluctantly releasing his hold on Pippo’s hand. Most of the Germans are men but there are two women, both with small children in their arms, and a young boy standing next to one of the men, most likely his father.  
  
Pippo watches the scene for a while – Riccardo is talking to the group in a steady voice, gesturing towards the lifeboats – before he, too, moves to the more crowded area of the deck, trying to round up women and children in the masses.  
  
He keeps looking over his shoulder, making sure Riccardo is still there, afraid he might lose him in the crowd again, after he went through so much trouble to find him.  
  
One part of Pippo’s mind – a voice that sounds suspiciously like President Berlusconi’s – is telling him he is an idiot for not boarding the lifeboat at the same time as Adriano when he had the chance.  
  
Pippo had told Riccardo not to worry about people he did not even know, and yet here he is, risking his own life for a boy he had met only five days earlier – a boy who was supposed to be nothing more than a casual fuck!  
  
Riccardo finds Pippo’s eyes in the crowd when Pippo is assisting a young woman into the lifeboat. Riccardo is holding a toddler in his arms as the kid’s mother climbs into the boat before turning around to take her child from Riccardo.  
  
Pippo can see fear in the wide pale blue eyes, but there is also unguarded  _trust_  that makes all Pippo’s doubts disappear right away – he knows there is no way he could have left Riccardo behind, even if it means going down with him.  
  
Riccardo slips through the crowd back to Pippo’s side, leaning his shoulder against Pippo’s and entwining their fingers gently – his hand feels much colder than Pippo’s – as Officer Murdoch gives the order to lower the final boat.  
  
“It’s the last one,” Riccardo notes quietly – needlessly – his eyes unblinking as he stares down at the lifeboat that looks like it has been filled over its capacity, and still there was no room for them, “What’re we going to do now?”  
  
“We wait,” Pippo replies simply, squeezing Riccardo’s hand reassuringly, “They’ve still got the collapsible boats; we just need to get them here and set them up. There’s still time.”  
  
But how long, exactly? Pippo pulls his watch out of his pocket – it reads twenty to two – calculating their chances of getting off the ship before it is too late. The listing of the ship is getting more noticeable by the minute and the lower decks are already filled with water, he had heard one third class passenger saying.  
  
The crowd around them is splitting up now that the boats are gone, some people moving to the other side in hopes of finding more lifeboats while the others seem to have given up completely.  
  
“Watch out!” Riccardo suddenly yells, his grip on Pippo’s hand tightening until it is almost painful, his eyes fixed on the lifeboats down at the side of the ship. Pippo understands the reason for his reaction when he looks down: one of the lifeboats has moved under the last one that is still being lowered, at risk of being crushed in the very next moment.  
  
There are screams echoing around the decks, the noise swallowing up every sound that might be heard from the lifeboats otherwise. Pippo and Riccardo can do nothing but look on in horror, the last boat moving closer and closer to water and the full boat underneath it.  
  
Riccardo is gasping for air, obviously close to panicking, his eyes refusing to move away from the scene down below. Pippo uses his free hand to grasp the back of his neck, forcibly pulling him into a half-embrace, forcing him to look away.  
  
“Breathe,” he advices quietly, speaking right into Riccardo’s ear even though his own eyes are still trained on the lifeboats, “You can’t help them. You can only help yourself – breathe, Riccardo.”  
  
Riccardo’s whole body is shaking as he struggles to draw a breath, the fear visibly rushing over him all at once. Pippo is honestly surprised it took him this long – this is the reaction he has been half-expecting all along.  
  
The lifeboat makes it out of the way in time, both boats safely lowered in the water now, oars extended, rowing away from the sinking Titanic.  
  
“It’s okay,” Pippo whispers into Riccardo’s hair, slowly rocking him in his arms to calm him down, “They made it. They’re safe.”  
  
“But we’re not,” Riccardo’s voice is shaking, constricted, but the sudden realization in his tone makes the earlier dread slip back into Pippo’s mind as well.  
  
“Come on, we need to go help with the collapsible boats,” he tells Riccardo instead of answering him outright, kissing his temple one more time before releasing his hold, “They’re heavy – the more manpower we’ve got the faster they can be lowered.”  
  
Riccardo does not say a word, only looks at Pippo listlessly, but he is not openly panicking anymore so Pippo decides it must be a good sign.  
  
“Come on,” he repeats quietly, tugging on Riccardo’s hand one more time before turning and jogging up to the officers that are gathering men around to help them with the collapsible boats.  
  
Riccardo’s hand is back in Pippo’s as Officer Murdoch gives the instructions – somehow the silent presence at his side makes Pippo feel safer.  
  
“We’ll do this together,” Riccardo tells Pippo as they help pick up the first boat, carrying it over the deck to the davits. He looks sickly pale, almost nauseous, but his expression is defiant, not quite ready to give up yet.  
  
The ship is clearly tilted towards the port side now – it takes a conscious effort to stand upright without support – and the bow is sinking more with every minute it takes for the crew to erect the sides of the boat and to raise it on the davits for loading.  
  
The effort is made even harder by a group of stewards and third class passengers adamant on boarding the boat before it is deemed safe, panic clearly taking a hold of an increasing number of people still on board.  
  
“Oi, get off there!” Pippo yells at one of the stewards who has climbed into the boat, but his voice drowns into the general uproar around them as the people try to force their way into the boat.  
  
A warning shot fired by one of the officers leaves Pippo’s ears ringing for several minutes, but at least the shock is enough to make the scared passengers scatter out of the way, allowing the crewmen to do their job.  
  
The few stewards sitting in the boat are forced out by the officers and a few male passengers stepping up. Pippo is about to join them but Riccardo’s body pressed up against his side stops him.  
  
“They’re just scared,” Riccardo mutters in a low voice, his lips brushing against Pippo’s ear, “Just like us. No one wants to die here – no one deserves to die here. It’s so unfair.”  
  
“They can’t force their way into the boats, though. There’re procedures for a reason,” Pippo tries to reason, but at the same time he understands what Riccardo is saying: the stewards have been working to help the passengers evacuate with no chance of saving themselves ever since the collision – how could they be blamed for trying to grasp the last straw of survival?  
  
“Let’s go help the women and children,” Riccardo grumbles as the men are dragged back to the deck, pulling on Pippo’s hand, his eyes pointedly trained away from the boat.  
  
They make one last effort to round up the remaining women and children on the deck, sticking together this time, their fingers interlocked, refusing to let go. They find only a few of them, the boat deck looking almost deserted in comparison to the earlier crowds.  
  
“Any more ladies?” one of the officers is yelling by the boat, looking frantically around in case they have missed someone, before he makes a decision, “If there’re no more ladies, I’d ask the gentlemen to board now – in good order.”  
  
There is still space in the boat, but not nearly enough for all the men still waiting on the deck.  
  
The third class men are trying to rush toward the boat again, but they are held back by the crewmembers that are still trying to keep the loading orderly. Riccardo is squeezing Pippo’s hand painfully tight now, as they wait by the boat for a chance to board. Waiting, waiting, waiting…  
  
“Mr. Inzaghi,” Officer Murdoch calls for him suddenly over the heads of the third class passengers, gesturing for him to come closer, “Could you take one of the oars, please?”  
  
Pippo has no words to describe the relief washing over him at that moment as he makes his way to the boat, pulling Riccardo along with him – the force of it overpowers even the guilt from knowing they are only getting saved because they are from the first class and Pippo happens to know the officer in charge.  
  
“Good luck,” Officer Murdoch tells Pippo solemnly as he hands him the oar, meeting his eyes sternly – like a man who has accepted his fate – glancing towards Riccardo as well as he continues more quietly, “We’ve sent the emergency message to the nearby ships, someone must’ve received it. May God help you.”  
  
Words get stuck in Pippo’s throat, stopping him from returning the words back at the officer. Instead, he climbs into the boat and turns around to help Riccardo, who actually manages a constricted “Thank you” to Officer Murdoch before he follows Pippo’s example.  
  
The loading is finished promptly, but Pippo pays no mind to the procedure, all his senses muddled, as if in a haze, Riccardo’s body pressed up against his side the only thing registering in his mind.  
  
An order to lower the boat reaches his ears through that haze and he lifts his gaze to meet Officer Murdoch’s eyes one more time. He nods his head curtly, hoping it will convey his gratitude better than his earlier loss of words.  
  
“The tilt’s too steep! We’re gonna hit the hull!” Riccardo realizes suddenly, grabbing Pippo’s arm to get his attention, gesturing frantically at the side of the ship just as the boat colliders into it.  
  
“Fuck!” Pippo curses in loud Italian, lifting the oar and trying to use it to keep the angle of the boat stable. The crewmembers on board are doing the same, and the passengers on the hull-side even use their hands to keep the boat moving towards the water.  
  
For one terrifying moment Pippo thinks the boat is going to capsize, throwing them into the freezing water, but then they finally reach the calm waters and the ropes are detached from the boat, leaving them floating away from the hull.  
  
Riccardo collapses against him, trembling from head to toe, his face hidden against Pippo’s shoulder, his soft murmuring just barely audible, “We made it. We made it. We made it…”  
  
“Oars! We need to get away from the ship or it’ll take us down with it!” the officer in charge of the boat yells, forcing Pippo to snap back to attention even though the only thing he wants to do right now is to hold Riccardo and make sure he is alright.  
  
Everyone on the boat remains silent as they start rowing away from the Titanic, the officer’s steady instructions the only thing they can hear over the terrifying sounds from the sinking ship.  
  
Pippo is doing his best to keep himself from looking at the ship, but it proves difficult as he is still facing the wreck, repeating the motions over and over again as the lifeboat glides over the deceivingly calm water, farther and farther away from the lights of the vessel.  
  
Riccardo slips down from his seat at Pippo’s side, sitting down on the bottom of the boat instead, with his back turned to the horrifying sight. He wraps one arm around Pippo’s leg, caressing his calf gently, looking up at Pippo’s face.  
  
It is probably more for Riccardo’s own comfort than Pippo’s – this way he does not have to see the ship going down – but Pippo decides to take the offered distraction, keeping his eyes trained on Riccardo’s face even as the darkness engulfs them, distorting his features.  
  
They are only allowed to pull the oars from water when they are a safe distance away – a good 70 meters at least, if Pippo had to hazard a guess – leaving the boat floating in an eerie silence. Pippo can just barely make out the shapes of a few other lifeboats nearby.  
  
A little girl sitting across from Pippo is crying quietly, clinging to her mother’s lifebelt, her face hidden against the white fabric, muffling her sniffles. Behind him a baby is beginning to bawl, probably too young to understand what is happening but scared nonetheless.  
  
Pippo searches Riccardo’s hands in the darkness, pulling them into his lap, rubbing them strongly to create a bit of extra warmth between them when he realizes Riccardo’s hands are still colder than his own.  
  
Riccardo shifts closer, following Pippo’s wordless plea, until he is sitting between Pippo’s spread legs, his head rested against his thigh. He is looking up at Pippo, his pale blue eyes reflecting the scarce starlight shining upon them.  
  
Just for a moment, the world stops; just for a moment, Pippo can almost imagine it is only the two of them there, in this cold starry night in the middle of the Atlantic.  
  
Then one of the ladies on the boat lets out a distressed sound and Pippo’s head snaps up, his eyes taking in the sight before him.  
  
The Titanic’s bow has dipped deeper underwater, lifting the stern from the water in a steep angle. The lights finally flicker out, leaving only the outline of the great vessel. But there is still noise, metallic rattle from the hull being torn apart by the sudden force.  
  
“Stop,” Riccardo whispers, his voice trembling so badly he can barely get the word out. He is tugging on Pippo’s hands urgently until he finally leans forward, their foreheads pressed together, “Don’t look. There’s nothing we can do. Don’t look at it. Please.”  
  
So Pippo closes his eyes, clutching Riccardo’s hands between his own so tightly it must be hurting him, but Riccardo says nothing, only returns the gesture with the same force. Their faces are so close they could probably see their steamy breaths mixing together were they to look.  
  
They stay like that even as they hear the hull breaking apart and the ship going down – first one half and then another. There is screaming – a sound of hundreds of voices yelling, crying, begging for help all at the same time – but Pippo only bites his lip and forces himself not to look up.  
  
He can feel Riccardo’s uneven breaths on his lips as the boy keeps mouthing something over and over again, but there is no sound from him. There are only the deafening screams filling their ears, until finally it is gone, leaving behind only heartbreaking silence – Pippo has never felt so guilty for being  _relieved_.  
  
In that silence he can finally make sense of Riccardo’s whispered words, so quiet they can barely be heard even now: “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop…”  
  
“Hush,” Pippo tries to reassure him quietly, even though his own voice gets stuck in his throat. He brushes his lips against the corner of Riccardo’s mouth, the brief contact finally putting a stop to his mantra, “It’s over now. We made it. We’re alive.”  
  
Riccardo draws a staggering breath and snuggles just a bit closer to Pippo. He says nothing. There are no more words left for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Titanic had three types of lifeboats on board: 14 clinker-built wooden lifeboats (capacity of 65), two smaller wooden cutters (capacity of 40), and four Engelhardt collapsible lifeboats (capacity of 47) that were essentially boat-shaped rafts with heavy canvas sides that could be erected to form a boat.  
> \- Collapsible C was the first Engelhardt lifeboat to be launched (around 2:00 am), and it was also the last boat to be launched from starboard side. Collapsible D was launched from the port side around five minutes later, while the other two were washed off the deck before they could be launched. Those two were used by some survivors (including Officer Lightoller) after the sinking.  
> \- Of the around 40 people on board of the Collapsible C, around 30 were women and children, with a few first class men allowed to board after them. White Star Line chairman Bruce Ismay – one of the most controversial Titanic survivors – was also on board, working at the oar.  
> \- Apparently there were also four Chinese third class passengers found hiding on the bottom of the boat after it was lowered, but I decided Pippo probably wouldn’t have paid that much attention to his surroundings at that point.  
> \- Titanic sank at 2:20 am, April 15, 1912, taking more than 1,500 people with her. Most of the lifeboats didn’t return to look for survivors.
> 
> \- And yes, both Pippo and Riccardo surviving was a conscious choice, and not only because I couldn’t bear to kill them. Approximately 33 percent of the first class men survived the disaster – roughly the same survival rate as third class children’s – which is a good indicator how the evacuation procedures worked. The facts are, there was still space on Collapsible C even when it was lowered, and the crew obviously favoured first class passengers (especially when it came to men), so I can’t see a reason why Pippo and Riccardo wouldn’t have been allowed on board. Pippo taking the oar would’ve also been logical: Murdoch knew him and he was an able-bodied man with working knowledge of seafaring (because let’s face it, he would’ve known this stuff, having taken part in the design of the ship and all).
> 
> \- Feedback would be much appreciated!


	8. The Morning After: April 15, 1912

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter doubles as a kind of an epilogue – though to be honest, it's more like two chapters both too short to be posted on their own, so I'm combining them into one.

_”All Saved From Titanic After Collision.” – headline in The Evening Sun (New York), April 15, 1912_  
  
  
  
The night feels like it will never end.  
  
There are no lights on board of the lifeboat, which quickly forces their eyes to adjust to the darkness. A few times Quartermaster Rowe orders them to get the oars and row for a while to keep the nearby lifeboats in sight, but apart from that, they are left adrift with no food or drinking water.  
  
At first, Pippo can hear people talking to each other in low voices, foreign languages mixing together in his ears, but as the night goes on, the freezing weather and the ever-present fear silence the voices.  
  
Whenever he is not needed, Pippo stays close to Riccardo, huddled on the bottom of the boat, his hands tucked inside Riccardo’s pant pockets for extra warmth while Riccardo’s hands are inside Pippo’s jacket, under the thick lifebelt.  
  
In any other circumstances they might worry about the appearances, but right now causing a scandal is the least of their worries.  
  
Riccardo is shivering with cold, even their shared body heat leaving him craving for more.  
  
Riccardo had given his scarf to the third class girl across from them, assuring her it was alright. He has not complained even once afterwards – he actually refused to take Pippo’s scarf when offered – but they way he presses up closer to Pippo whenever he has a chance speaks volumes of how cold he is.  
  
Pippo ignores the yells from a nearby lifeboat at first – he has lost count of how many times someone has imagined they have seen a ship approaching only to realize it was just another lifeboat – but then one of the crewmembers on their own boat pipes up with “Lights! Ship approaching!”  
  
Riccardo lifts his head slowly, reluctantly moving his face away from the crook of Pippo’s neck, looking around with only a tiniest hint of hopefulness until his gaze focuses on the distant lights and his face lights up.  
  
“It really is there,” he whispers, pulling his hands from the small pouches of warmth he had managed to find inside Pippo’s clothes, untangling himself from his embrace to let him get his oar and return to his seat.  
  
People around them are starting to notice the approaching vessel as well, sounds or relief and delight filling the air. Pippo cannot resist the urge to kiss Riccardo quickly before pulling him into a tight hug, whispering meaningless words into his ear, words he will not even remember afterwards.  
  
“Go, take us there,” Riccardo tells him with a soft laugh, caressing Pippo’s face with both hands, holding his gaze for a while longer. He looks sickly pale, dark shadows under his eyes and lips almost bluish – although it might be just the darkness playing tricks with Pippo’s eyes.  
  
The dawn breaks as they row toward the ship that seems to have stopped, waiting for the lifeboats to reach her. Along with the morning light, the wind also picks up, rising waves swaying their boat dangerously.  
  
Riccardo is stroking Pippo’s calf again, his fingers digging into his leg a bit too hard when the new light reveals the wreckage they are leaving behind and the ice all around them, previously invisible due to the dark and calm night.  
  
There are several icebergs visible in the horizon, as well – no wonder the Titanic had hit one, Pippo thinks bitterly before pointedly forcing himself to think about the vessel waiting for them instead of the one they had lost.  
  
It takes a long time, the ship waiting in the distance seemingly not getting any closer no matter how hard they row. But at least now there is a newfound hope that keeps them going, moving forward, straining themselves to finish this one last effort.  
  
Then finally,  _finally_ , the ship is there, so close that Pippo can read the name –  _RMS Carpathia_  – on the hull. A number of lifeboats are already docked alongside the hull, the survivors being helped on board through open gangway doors.  
  
Pippo feels like an immense weight has been lifted off his shoulders when they finally reach the ship and their rescuers take the charge of the situation. The ones strong enough are climbing a rope ladder up to the gangway door while the others are lifted into the ship with the help of slings and mail sacks.  
  
Riccardo pulls away from Pippo’s side reluctantly only after most of the women and children have boarded the Carpathia, glancing over his shoulder at Pippo one last time before climbing the ladder, slowly but surely pulling himself into safety.  
  
Irrational fear grips Pippo’s insides as he watches Riccardo go – like it was the last time Pippo would ever see him – even though he knows he will follow him close behind.  
  
Pippo’s hands are shaking when he takes a hold of the rope ladder, the hours of rowing in the cold finally taking their toll on his exhausted muscles – he has kept going on pure adrenaline for at least half an hour already.  
  
He almost loses his grip on the ropes halfway up the ladder and he has to stop to collect himself. His heart is bounding against his ribcage so hard he thinks he could actually hear it were it not for the worried yells from above and underneath him.  
  
“Everything alright, sir?” a crewman asks as he helps Pippo up the rest of he way, a large hand offering a steadying hold on his arm as he climbs on board, “Are you hurt? Should we have someone show you to the first aid station?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Pippo replies quickly, his voice hoarse. He is looking around to find Riccardo even as he speaks, the earlier fear raising its ugly head again when he cannot spot his companion right away.  
  
“Walk down the corridor. The stewards will show you where to go and get you something warm to drink,” the purser tells him in a calming voice before Pippo can ask about Riccardo, pointing him towards the direction where a steady line of survivors is trickling, “Maybe you’ll find your family there, as well.”  
  
Pippo barely remembers to mumble his thanks before he joins the line, numbly following the directions from the crewmembers until he makes it to a dining room that is already filled with people – a doctor is checking up on the more critical cases while the stewards are taking care of the others, offering them blankets or warm beverages.  
  
“Pippo!”  
  
Pippo’s brain registers someone calling for him only when Riccardo practically collides into him, wrapping his arms around Pippo’s neck and clinging onto him like his life depended on it. There is a blanket hanging loosely around Riccardo shoulders – it almost falls off before Pippo catches it and wraps it more tightly around Riccardo, returning the embrace with an audible sigh of relief.  
  
“I wanted to wait for you to come up, but they told me I needed to get warm and see the doctor and I was so  _tired_  and  _cold_  and—” Riccardo never stops his panicked babbling, not even when he presses his face against Pippo’s shoulder, muffling his voice until neither of them can make sense of the words anymore.  
  
“Hush. It’s okay now,” Pippo whispers into his ear, kissing his hair gently, “It’s okay, Riccardo. I’ve got you. We’re safe.”  
  
A steward is there to usher them forward when Pippo finally starts paying attention to their surroundings.  
  
They are ordered to sit down close to the first aid station. Apparently Riccardo had been close to losing his consciousness when he made it on board, which is why the doctor wants to keep an eye on his condition. This information startles Pippo much more than his own clumsiness on the ladder had.  
  
“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well – what if you’d fallen off the ladder?” Pippo berates Riccardo quietly, his hold around the boy’s waist tightening instinctively.  
  
“I’m  _fine_. They’re just overreacting,” Riccardo retorts, but Pippo can tell from the way he avoids Pippo’s gaze that he is not being completely honest. He lets it slide for now, because Riccardo did make it up the ladder safely. They are past the worst part now.  
  
A steward brings them warm drinks and another blanket for Pippo. A purser stops by to get their names and travel information before moving on, leaving them to their own devices for the time being.  
  
Exhaustion is dragging down Pippo’s limbs, making him feel slower, heavier, but still he refuses to let go of Riccardo who is snuggled comfortably against his side. Pippo strokes his fingers down Riccardo’s spine gently – he can still feel soft shivers of cold running through Riccardo’s body.  
  
“For a second, I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers into Riccardo’s ear, “It’s silly, huh? We were together on that lifeboat, but suddenly you were gone and I just wanted you back in my arms, right then and there.”  
  
“It’s not silly,” Riccardo returns softly, turning his head so he can brush his lips against Pippo’s, before looking down at his coffee pointedly. They cannot afford more than that, not now that they are safe, surrounded by people who might not recognize them now but who could easily connect the dots later.  
  
“It’s not silly,” Riccardo repeats the words quietly, lifting the cup to his lips, sipping the coffee thoughtfully.  
  
For a second, Pippo thinks he never wants to leave Riccardo again, never wants to stop holding him like this. All he wants is to have Riccardo all for himself: safe, happy, and  _real_.  
  
It is irrational – it  _is_  silly – but at that moment Pippo realizes he does not care.  
  
“Come with me to Italy,” he whispers, the words coming out of his mouth before he has any time to consider them, “I could get you a job. My house’s big enough for both of us. We could be together, for real. If you wanted to.”  
  
Riccardo’s head snaps back up at the suggestion, disbelieving eyes meeting Pippo’s serious ones. He looks like he has seen a ghost, his sickly paleness suddenly seeming to bear much more meaning than earlier.  
  
Riccardo looks like he wants to say ‘no’, Pippo thinks bitterly.  
  
In a way, Pippo almost hopes that Riccardo would say ‘no’, because it is an absolutely terrible idea – Pippo is supposed to get engaged the moment he returns to Milan and Riccardo has a fiancée in Argentina, and Adriano is going to  _kill_  Pippo when he hears he has even suggested such a thing…  
  
“I’d like that,” Riccardo says softly – actually, he is merely mouthing the words, forcing Pippo to read them from his lips – a barely visible smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.  
  
“Good,” Pippo mouths back at him. He hides his own idiotic grin by leaning in and kissing Riccardo’s forehead, over and over and over again, until Riccardo pushes him away with an embarrassed giggle. He is biting his lower lip to keep himself from laughing out loud when Pippo meets his eyes again, both of them acutely aware of the tragedy that is still surrounding them.  
  
This is no place to laugh.  
  
“I— I need to go find Adriano. To let him know I made it,” Pippo mumbles, ducking away from Riccardo’s curious gaze. He covers his involuntary smile with his hand, feigning a cough.  
  
“Can’t it wait a little longer?” Riccardo asks, leaning his head on Pippo’s shoulder, trying to make himself comfortable against his side, “Can’t we just stay here for now? Together?”  
  
“Okay,” Pippo makes no attempt to argue, wrapping his arm around Riccardo’s waist again under the blankets they are sharing.  
  
Riccardo only hums in response, the warmth surrounding them finally lulling him into light slumber.  
  
  
  
**End of the Line: April 18, 1912**  
  
  
_"I thought her unsinkable and I based my opinion on the best expert advice." – Phillip Franklin, White Star Line Vice President_  
  
  
  
The port in New York is buzzing with people – some of them are friends or families of the Titanic passengers, others reporters trying to catch the scoop of the week, but most of them are just curious citizens looking to find out what had really happened on that fateful night.  
  
Adriano is walking a few paces ahead of Pippo and Riccardo, pointedly ignoring their intertwined hands.  
  
Adriano had been furious when he found the two of them on the Carpathia – safely cuddled together when Adriano had thought they had went down with the Titanic – but his fury had quickly died down, replaced by immense relief that Pippo had made it out alive.  
  
He is yet to say anything about Pippo and Riccardo’s now obvious involvement, the relief probably stopping him from berating Pippo so soon after the disaster.  
  
It is now more than ever that Pippo is thankful for the family-like relationship he has always had with his boss. Because he knows that deep down Adriano is always just looking after Pippo, putting his wellbeing ahead of any business connection.  
  
“You think your family’s gonna be here?” Pippo asks Riccardo as they exit the ship that has been their safe haven for almost four days, looking over the masses of people gathered on the pier.  
  
“How could they be? They’re in Argentina,” Riccardo retorts quietly. He is biting the inside of his lower lip uncertainly when Pippo turns to look at his face, his eyes filled with sadness, as if he had hoped someone would be there to welcome him back.  
  
Being on land feels odd – almost surreal – and it makes Pippo feel immensely guilty to see the grieving faces of all those people who had been waiting for their loved ones only to realize they had not made it.  
  
Until that moment, Pippo had only focused on himself and Riccardo – both on the Titanic and on the Carpathia – but now that he finally sees the fear, the despair, the loss all around them, he truly realizes how much bigger this whole thing is than just the two of them.  
  
Only now Pippo realizes it really had happened – that it had not been just some deranged dream.  
  
“Are you okay?” Riccardo asks, squeezing his hand and studying Pippo’s expression worriedly.  
  
He had been so selfish, to think he could just ignore everyone else and sweep Riccardo off to Italy, away from his family, away from his responsibilities.  
  
And all for what? For Pippo to grow bored of the relationship and to cast Riccardo aside? For President Berlusconi to find out and make sure neither of them would ever find work in Italy again? For both of them to start regretting the decision neither of them had been ready to make?  
  
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Pippo answers the question belatedly, tightening his own hold on Riccardo’s hand.  
  
Riccardo opens his mouth to say something else, but he is interrupted by someone calling his name, the voice ringing loud above all the others.  
  
A man with dark curly hair and blue eyes is pushing his way through the crowd. The resemblance is so striking that Pippo could probably have guessed his identity even if Riccardo’s face did not light up at the sight of him, his lips forming the name: “Luca!”  
  
Riccardo’s hand slips away from Pippo’s without any hesitation as he dashes over to his brother, throwing himself into his arms in a very similar fashion to what he did with Pippo on the Carpathia.  
  
Except this time he is crying – muffling the loud sobs into Luca’s shirt, desperately trying to wipe away the tears with one hand while the other still refuses to let go of his brother – and Pippo realizes with a start that it is the first time Riccardo has openly cried since the disaster.  
  
“Better leave him be,” Adriano is suddenly at Pippo’s side, a steady hand patting his shoulder in a fatherly fashion, “The adventure’s over, boy. This is where he belongs, with his family.”  
  
“I just wanted him safe,” Pippo says softly, more to himself than to Adriano, “I’d never felt anything like that before – it was so intense, like nothing else in the world mattered.”  
  
“How many times have you been on a sinking ship?” Adriano asks him pointedly, his hold on Pippo’s shoulder tightening, “When you come so close to death, you cling to the things closest to you. It’s not real. Not in the long run.”  
  
“It felt real,” Pippo retorts, but lets Adriano pull him along, away from Riccardo.  
  
It is better this way.  
  
There is a car waiting for them – apparently Adriano had pulled some strings even on the Carpathia to arrange everything for them – and Pippo is about to climb in after Adriano when he hears Riccardo calling after him.  
  
He turns around just in time to see Riccardo forcing his way through the crowd, stopping a few steps away from Pippo. His face is still tear-streaked and eyes bloodshot, and now the earlier uncertainty is apparent in his whole posture.  
  
“You’re leaving,” Riccardo says quietly, his voice not quite accusing, like he had known this would happen.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Pippo replies. He feels like there is something stuck in his chest, making his voice come out croaky, “I know I promised to take you to Italy, but I can’t do it. I’d just end up hurting you. I’m sorry.”  
  
Riccardo licks his lips – a sight that immediately makes Pippo want to kiss him – watery eyes meeting Pippo’s squarely as he says, “Don’t be.”  
  
Those two words are enough to assure Pippo it is a mutual decision: Riccardo could never leave his family behind, not after coming so close to losing them. Pippo could never compete with that bond – he does not even want to.  
  
“I was serious, though, back on the Carpathia,” Pippo tries to keep his tone light, but the ache in his chest is making it increasingly difficult, “I really wanted to be with you.”  
  
“I know,” Riccardo breathes out, his tears falling freely even as Pippo fights to keep his own in control.  
  
Two long strides is all it takes for Pippo to close the distance between them, but then he stops in his tracks right in front of Riccardo, unsure what he is allowed to do now.  
  
Riccardo takes the decision away from him by wrapping his arms around Pippo’s neck and pulling him into a tight hug, his lips brushing Pippo’s cheek as he whispers, “Thank you, for saving me. I wouldn’t have made it if it wasn’t for you.”  
  
Pippo cannot find any words to say even as Riccardo releases him and pulls back reluctantly. Riccardo wipes the tears off his own face with the back of his hand before offering Pippo a smile that looks only half-genuine, “I’ll write you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Pippo answers, tears stinging his eyes, still refusing to fall, “I’ll write you, too.”  
  
“Liar,” Riccardo mouths at him with a roll of his eyes as he backs away from Pippo, walking backwards towards the place where his brother is waiting for him.  
  
Pippo thinks he might be right.  
  
“I will,” he yells after Riccardo one more time before climbing into the car, the chauffeur closing the door behind him. Tears are rolling down his face before the engine is even on.  
  
“It’s better this way,” Adriano tells him solemnly as they curve away from the harbour, leaving Riccardo behind.  
  
“I know.”  
  
But even though he says it – even though rationally he knows it is the right thing to do – it does not stop Pippo from feeling like he is doing the biggest mistake of his life.  
  
_It is better like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- RMS Carpathia arrived at the disaster scene around 4 am (over one and half hours after the Titanic went down) and during the next few hours picked up all 705 survivors from the lifeboats. Collapsible C was the first Engelhardt lifeboat to reach the ship, at around 5:45 am.  
> \- About the first quote: there was very little information available on what had happened to the Titanic, and some papers actually did write that everyone had survived the crash. The radio connections between the Carpathia and New York were limited, and while the message of Titanic’s sinking was confirmed, the real scope of the disaster was only revealed when the ship arrived in New York four days later.  
> \- The survivors were (understandably) in varying states of shock when they reached the Carpathia. The captain had set up first aid stations with trained doctors (found among the passengers) taking care of the most critical cases. The rest received blankets and warm drinks immediately, and something to eat soon after.  
> \- The crew of RMS Carpathia and her captain in particular later received lots of praise for the swift rescue operation.
> 
> \- re: Riccardo’s condition after the rescue. I’m going with the assumption that there are slight differences to people’s natural resistance against cold. Rowing would’ve also kept Pippo warmer than Riccardo. Then there’s the fact that Pippo had attended the party earlier while Riccardo had eaten alone – so why don’t we assume that he wasn’t feeling very hungry and therefore didn’t eat enough to keep his energy levels up through the night. Mostly I’m just chalking it up to the high levels of stress and panic, though.
> 
> \- That’s it, that’s the whole story! Please let me know what you thought about it?


End file.
